


Hold Tight and Pretend It's a Plan

by Rynna_Aurelia



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Additional Warnings in Author's Notes, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, BAMF Percy Jackson, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Not Canon Compliant - The Blood of Olympus, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 10:31:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13832307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynna_Aurelia/pseuds/Rynna_Aurelia
Summary: Olympus has fallen.The second Gigantomachy has ended far differently than the first, and in Gaea's triumph, the world has been torn apart. But the Fates have seen what ends their failed meddling brought Western Civilization, look on at the dead—and undo what should never have happened the only way they possibly can.Perseus Jackson, son of Poseidon, is returned to his twelve-year-old self, memories intact and determined to save everyone he can. But he is not alone.The Moirai underestimated the strength of the Lord of Time when stealing his power, and there is something about this particular demigod brat that intrigues him. . .Perseus Jackson came roaring to life with a violent gasp, green eyes wild. After a moment of panicked flailing and struggling to breathe, his fear-filled gaze settled upon a girl with blonde hair and stormy grey eyes, her face stern and unimpressed."You drool in your sleep."





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, major character deaths. Rather depressing, to be honest.

_"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light."  
_

_-Dylan Thomas_

* * *

Where did it go so wrong? _  
_

_Dispassionately, Clotho could only muse on how the world could have come to an end such as this, as her sisters cut, with only a soft snip, so many lives before they were meant to end._

* * *

Desperately, the Seven attempted to keep the battle even, all the while praying to gods who did not listen.

But for all their efforts, the Gigantes inexorably advanced, the blood of Olympus long since spilt; Gaea was awoken, and her wrath shook the world as the last bastions of Western Civilization resisted with the last dregs of power they possessed. _  
_

Leo Valdez and his master creation were the first to fall.

* * *

_Clotho watched her sister cut several threads at once with her silver scissors, with something that might have been a resigned sigh in a mortal. The Argo II had been almost certainly doomed, but the Fates had foreseen it making a far larger impact on the battle —preferably with the interference of the gods. Her other sibling had ready a longer thread for the son of Hephaestus's life, now to never be used.  
_

_She turned back to the impending end of the war, and patiently waited for her father to lead the Olympians into battle, to save both Rome and Greece._

_The Fates could but watch, watch as this end of their own unwitting making unfolded._

* * *

Gaea's wrath shook Camp Half-Blood, and she walked her own body for the first time in millennia, serene smile fixed. The demigods and their leaders did not tremble, and stood to meet the Primordial.

* * *

In vain, _Lachesis thought with a facsimile of pity. She watched her oldest sister efficiently end thousands of lives as what remained of the great training camps died screaming, returned to the Mother._

_An unsatisfied parent, it would seem however. Her essence dissipated from the place humans called Long Island, and began to concentrate, fury undiminished, where the focus of the world turned, even if the mortals remained ignorant: Athens.  
_

* * *

At the latest hour—too late, it could be argued—the god of thunder finally roused himself, both aspects temporarily corralled. The king of the gods led Olympus into battle, unaware of the futility of his gesture.

* * *

_Surprisingly, Dionysus was the first to fall. Lachesis watched as her half-brother was felled by the twins, who then turned their attention to hunting the minor immortals, the glee of their mother literally rippling through Greece.  
_

_Unsurprisingly, a chain effect was initiated by the death of the son of Semele; the daughter of Athena was next, killed by her mother's literal arch-nemesis, only for him to be killed in turn by her grieving mother; the goddess of wisdom soon found her end in the form of a soon twice-victorious Alcyoneus, ineffective in the new home of the counterpart of Hades.  
_

_And Pallas Athena's great enemy? In certain defeat, he gave up his life, his memories, his **power**_ _to the Earth Mother._

_Gaea surged in response, and islands around the world were wiped off the map._

The second great Perseus roared with rage, and with four blows of his sword, defeated five combatants at once before having his attention forcibly caught by he who had been defeated twice before. He was joined by his father, and the three fought as their comrades continued to fall around them.

* * *

_All the while, the earth continued to shake, and the Ring of Fire began to break._

_Hephaestus let out a yell as he felt his forges' destruction —at least until a resurrected Typhon broke the god's back for the last time.  
_

* * *

Piper McLean fell soon after, at the hands of Periboia, inciting the goddess of love to war and a beauty of terror unparalleled. Although mother soon joined daughter, it was not before the _G_ _emini_ traitors went first. _  
_

Clytius, Hecate's ancient and learned foe, grappled with her champion, whose tricks with the Mist failed to save her, as instead of death, she was trapped in a nightmare both of and of not her making; eternal life in the land beyond the gods, spent on her last night and the first day of Gaea.

In grief, her dragon of a boyfriend failed to either rescue or follow, his newly-gained senses manipulated by the shadowed Gigante, who watched in grim glee as Frank Zhang began to find his way to the Underworld of his ancestors. At the same time, Jason Grace met the fate spun by Thoon, on the razor edge of the Gigante king's spear, where two sons of Zeus had already found their end.

_Lachesis could only shake her head at the massacre, and wonder: how did it come to this?_

Unabated by the blood already staining her, Gaea began to crack the world as she stretched for the first time in so _long_ , already seeking to meet her first love.

* * *

_If she had been any being but a goddess, Atropos would have tutted. Were her sisters really so surprised at the finish the world received from their manipulation?  
_

Anger palpably rippled through the air as the youngest son of Kronos was gradually forced to concede ground to his grandmother and would-be usurper, before at once collapsing as his final sister—the youngest, and one he had never quite cherished enough—was forced to yield permanently, her essence at last worn and gone.

In contrast, the king of the sea and his newest mortal heir triumphed at last over their foe, nearly exhausted by their efforts.

_But even as they triumphed, the eldest of the Fates could only think: too little, too late._

_Look behind you, son of Poseidon._

* * *

He did not.

_Atropos closed her silver scissors over a dark green thread.  
_

* * *

The youngest child of sea died with a knife in the small of the back, in the arms of his father.

* * *

_Atropos watched impassively as the second son of Kronos cried out to them, uncaring of the world cracked and burning around him and the few conquered that remained._

_She turned away from the howls of the fallen, unconcerned._

_They would die soon enough, and she had more important deeds to complete with her sisters._

_In their attempts to fix Western Civilization, heal Olympus, and avert the Age of Gaea's Children —it mattered not which—they had instead delivered it to the malevolent Primordial on a silver platter, as the mortals would have once said.  
_

_It had to be fixed —undone, to be more precise. The newly-arrived Age of the Gigantes would never allow for a hero to rise. Out of the corrupted tapestry of time they had created, a thread would have to be pulled. A seeming paradox for the Fates: for their problem to be fixed, the tapestry unwittingly woven could never be._

_Time would have to be manipulated, fates be changed. The power required would, under any normal circumstance, be considered impossible. No god or goddess had the power to manipulate time._

_A certain Titan, however, did. Or he once had, at least.  
_

_Atropos joined hands with her sisters, and together, reaching though the fabric of the universe, began to seek out the last of Kronos's rapidly fading essence in the corners of reality. Through a process that would be considered long enough to span generations by standards of any but their own, they collected every golden grain.  
_

_Then at last, the Moirai **pulled** , and tightly—for however short a period—bound the Lord of Time's power to their own; with a long-practiced efficiency, they worked._

_Clotho pulled from the dark and tangled tapestry a thread as green as the sea, far too short._

_Lachesis measured out the thread, connecting it with a length from a new skein of thread, thicker and stronger than the one she previously utilized._

_Atropos, last of all, with a soft, ominous snip from her golden scissors, severed the new, repaired thread from their previous corrupted work._

_In unison, the three sisters began to chant in a language that sounded extraordinarily like to Ancient Greek, except not —every syllable throbbed with power, and the air itself seemed to burn as the goddesses intoned to an unseen force. _

_Ananke, perhaps. Or even Order and Chaos themselves. Even Atropos was unsure on the particulars of the ritual; but it would work, she knew. There was no other option._

_Suddenly, the thread began to glow, as if it had been imbued with the Titan of Time's power itself; subtle at first, it increased in intensity until almost blinding, and it soon burned the Fates' hands, forcing them to release the life-thread._

_Atropos could not help but wonder; for a brief second, it had. . .But that was impossible, surely._

_And then she knew. A hint of trepidation shivered through her soul, and she turned to Clotho and Lachesis, old eyes wide._

What have w—

_And the world ended, not with a roar, but a whisper._

* * *

Perseus Jackson came roaring to life with a violent gasp, green eyes wild. After a moment of panicked flailing and struggle to breathe, his fear-filled gaze settled upon a girl with blonde hair and stormy grey eyes, her face stern and unimpressed.

"You drool in your sleep."


	2. Just Whose Hallucination Is This, Anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, and mentions of PTSD.

_"People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint —it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly. . .time-y wimey. . .stuff." _

_-The Tenth Doctor,_ Doctor Who

* * *

_"You drool in your sleep."  
_

Look, he hadn't wanted to hallucinate his girlfriend.

Admittedly, it was nicer than dying, but if Percy was going to be reliving his greatest hits while bleeding out on Dirt Face, than first day of camp—swirlies and grief and all—was not his top choice. If pressed, he would probably pick the underwater kiss after the Battle of Manhattan.

Or when Annabeth had called him a hero and kissed him under Mount St. Helens. Though, considering how well _that_ had ended, maybe not.

Just to be safe, Percy would go with the color Zeus turned whenever he had to deal with him. And the taste of his mom's blue cookies.

"Uh, you there, Jackson?" Annabeth—wonderfully alive, far too good for him, Annabeth—was now looking mildly confused.

"I'm hallucinating right now," Percy told her cheerfully. "So, as my girlfriend tells me, I'm not really there for you. Makes no sense, to be honest. I'm the one making you up, shouldn't I be the one there for _you?_ "

The blonde raised an eyebrow, her expression changing to one of _Di Immortales Why Do I Get the Crazies_. Oblivious, Percy rambled on.

"But to be honest, it doesn't really matter, considering I'm probably paying a visit to the Emo One, Sr. right now. I can't complain, though, seeing as you haven't tried to kill me yet. But to be honest, I don't think you will. Or could, really."

"Oh?" Annabeth asked, eyes glittering with all the rage a young daughter of Athena could muster—which was quite a lot, by twelve-year-old standards.

To Percy, she just looked a bit like a cat who had just been sprayed with water; except dry, and Californian. With all the earnestness of a toddler, he told her so, before elaborating as her face became consequently darker.

"You're far too girlfriend-y—for your age, that is. I don't date girls six years younger than me. Also, your knife's over there."

* * *

Five minutes and one centaur extraction later, Percy was being chauffeured around Camp Half-Blood by Luke Castellan, who kept side-eyeing him as if he expected Percy to suffer a psychotic break any second. It was all quite silly, seeing as _Luke_ had been to the one suffer a break by most standards, Percy remembered, his throat tightening with old grief.

"And that's Zeus and Hera's cabins, absolutely do not go in there under any circumstances unless the camp's on fire, or you want to be transformed into a small mammal - you alright there, Percy? You seem quiet." Hallucination-Luke gazed at him with genuine concern, and the young-old son of Poseidon had to resist the urge to puke at the conflict between memory and what was in front of him.

"Yeah—yeah, I'm fine," he managed. The son of Hermes merely gave him a look, and Percy hurriedly added, "Just a lot to take in, is all. And, well, my Mom."

That last one had hurt; when Hallucination-Chiron had taken him aside, quietly chastising him for pissing Not-Annabeth off despite just losing a parent, it had taken an embarrassingly long time for him to realize _— he couldn't see his mother in this. _

Also, people don't take well to being called hallucinations, particularly if there was a chance he somehow was _not_ hallucinating. Which, quite frankly, was Tartarus-levels of terrifying, because doing the last six years of his life all over again? _No thank you, Hera or Fates or whoever really hates my guts._

Not-Luke's face turned sympathetic, his eyes dark with memories, Percy now knew—his mother had gone mad after trying to become the oracle, leaving him to raise himself.

"I know it's a lot, learning about being a half-blood, especially being unclaimed, but I'm here for you, kid, if you ever need any help. We all are."

Percy opened his mouth, unsure of what would come out _—_ Just what do you say to the guy that tried to end Western Civilization, then saved it? —when a familiar husky voice yelled from behind him, "Well! A newbie!"

The blond hallucination sighed, and the technically unclaimed (De-claimed? Re-unclaimed?) son of Poseidon felt lost. Without Annabeth beside him, he had no idea how to handle this scenario. What are the rules, Percy thought with a smidge of rising hysteria, of meeting either hallucinations of your friends, or just meeting their younger versions?

"Percy, meet Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares," Luke said resignedly, distracting Percy. After a long pause, he continued, "Clarisse, this is Percy Jackson, unclaimed."

Not-Clarisse grinned as her three cronies sniggered behind her. "Yeah, can see why. I wouldn't want to claim a shrimp like you, either."

Before he could think, Percy took up—for him—the familiar banter. "I doubt it'll be long. I mean, _you_ were claimed."

The large girl's eye twitched, and Luke grimaced. "Prissy, I should warn you, we have a ritual for newbies who don't know where they should go."

"Clarisse—"

"Come on, I'll show you." She strode over, and quickly had him in a headlock, despite his struggles since, surprise surprise, for all of his memories, he was still a scrawny twelve-year-old up against a bulky child of Ares. As he was dragged towards the bathrooms, Luke was nowhere to be found, because _of course_ he was. As Clarisse strode into the building, cackling cronies and unwilling Percy in tow, he could only think futilely, _I won't go into those scummy johns again. I_ **_won't._**

But, they barely got inside the building when Percy finally managed to twist and land a quick hit to the daughter of Ares's nose, allowing Percy to squirm out of her grip. The black-haired boy was dodging the iron grip of one of the Four Stooges, panic rising without Riptide at his side and his enemy being relative friendlies, when Percy felt a tug in the pit of his stomach. _Wait, he was hallucinating, that shouldn't be able to —_

Suddenly, he heard a giant explosion from inside, and a literal tidal wave shot out of the bathrooms, blasting Percy, Clarisse, Luke, and _— oh gods, not again_—Annabeth, who stood not fifteen feet away, with freezing, brown water. Percy, as always, was perfectly dry as he scrambled to his feet while Clarisse—now resembling an extremely pissed off warthog—rolled onto her hands and knees with a groan. Balefully, she glared at him through strands of stringy hair, now flattened against her head.

"You're _dead_ , Prissy. Absolutely _dead._ "

But Percy wasn't paying attention as he crossed his arms against his stomach, and struggled to take in shallow breaths.

_It was real. All of it._

"Percy?" Luke approached him, caution written in his stance.

Percy shook his head, and struggled to think.

He had never, _could_ never, use his powers like that, with the distinctive pull in his gut, if he were imagining something. And the water, the water had felt real, hadn't soaked him, bent to his command, and—

_Κόλαση._

He wasn't hallucinating while dying, because he had already died. He was, for whatever reason, back in his twelve-year-old self, and reliving everything.

Gods, he was fucked.

And Percy Jackson, Slayer of the Minotaur, Defeater of Kronos and far too many monsters to count, ran away, leaving flabbergasted campers in his wake.

* * *

"Thanks for the help."

Luke shrugged, and sat down beside Percy as he stared blankly out at the water. Absentmindedly, he took note of the rough waves, and clouds forming on the horizon. The Master Bolt had already been stolen, he knew. Luke was already the lightning thief.

Gods, what happened? Why _him?_

Besides, the obvious, that is. Percy was well-aware of his Favored Punching Bag status already with the universe.

"I figured you needed to hold your own—Clarisse does it to every new camper. If it got out of hand, I would've stepped in. If I knew it would have. . .triggered something for you, I would have never let it get that far. I'm sorry, Percy."

At the apology, a startled Percy took a long look at Luke for the first time since his—time travel _.  
_

In contrast to the final days before he took on the Titan's spirit, Luke still looked _healthy,_ for lack of a better word, and while the scar across his face still lent him a sense of gravity, the son of Hermes no longer appeared quite so malevolent —another word Annabeth had given him —as he had after Percy's first quest.

He could still be saved, Percy realized. The Greatly Annoying Prophecy never mentioned anyone specifically, and could be someone else. He just had to make sure someone like Nico wasn't forced to deal with what a dead hippie lady said almost a century ago. He could stop it; never mind the fact Percy still had no idea what was going on, and the apocalypse had been witness an hour ago. He'd figure something out.

"It's fine, Luke," Percy demurred. "Everything just. . .caught up with me, that's all. What with the Minotaur, my Mom, finding out my father is a freaking Greek god."

Unsurprisingly, the older teenager scowled at the last. "Believe me, Perce, you're not alone on that one; a lot of us know the feeling, never knowing your godly parent, believing them dead or scumbags that abandoned you, and even when I finally asked for help, I—"

Luke cut off, stiffening at his Frudian slip, or whatever Annabeth had called it.

"Sorry, Percy," he finally said stiffly. "You don't need to know my problems on top of yours."

Percy shrugged.

"I don't mind, Luke—takes my mind off mine, to be honest. I don't mind listening," Percy said quickly. He was about to leave it at that, when an idea struck him. Luke may have talked to Kronos, but Percy could still try and sway him. "I'm curious, though—are there any, I don't know, immortal rules or something keeping gods from acknowledging that we exist? I mean, I can't imagine not caring about any of my kids, even after watching so many live and die for centuries. Gotta keep an eye on Percy Junior, if you know what I mean."

The son of Hermes let out an amused huff at this, before he became thoughtful. Finally, he gave an answer that surprised even Percy, his tone carefully neutral.

"There. . .are the Ancient Laws," Luke said grudgingly. "No one who's not an immortal knows all of the specifics, but. . .we know that th-they _do_ govern their behavior."

"How so?" Percy asked quietly, his eyes locked on him. In front of the two, the waves surged, and a faint rumble could be heard off in the distance.

"The Ancient Laws dictate that no immortal with ichor in their veins can directly interfere in mortal or demigod affairs unless directly challenged or in their domain," Luke recited. "No god is allowed to enter another's domain without explicit invitation, or allowed to steal another's symbol of power unless a mortal champion is sent—"

There was a brief pause; Percy internally winced, and Luke set his jaw as he looked at him, his eyes searching.

"And none of the elder gods are allowed to sire any children after World War Two," Luke concluded. "There are a ton of Laws for them to follow, but those are the biggies."

"So, the gods can't acknowledge their children?"

"—No, not unless. . .they're claiming them, or they've. . .done something pretty important." The son of Hermes was a paradox; his tone was almost wondering as he finished talking, but his blue eyes burnt with rage and his knuckles were white as he gripped a handful of grass.

"How important?" Percy was genuinely curious on this one; in his. . .previous life, this one had never come up. Plus, it had been pretty clear that he, Thalia, and Nico had been special cases, especially with the wars.

"Usually, if they're actually acknowledging you outside of claiming, you've—just earned immortality," Luke's answer was halting, and it was clear he wasn't focusing on the conversation at hand. "Or," he added ruefully. "You've just committed a screw-up worthy of the ancient heroes."

At this, neither boy spoke for a time; Percy mulled over what he had learned, carefully not thinking of anything before he had woken up at the Big House for the second time. Periodically, he chanced a quick glance over at Luke, whose brow remained furrowed as he stared off into the distance. Meanwhile, he contemplated his situation, and began to consider his next move. Below the two demigods, the sea began to calm for the first time as Percy was lost in his own thought, jumping from one idea to another.

"Anyway, if you ever need anything, just ask me or the Stolls; we'll be able to hook you up as long as you don't ask too many questions." Luke broke the silence, and clambered to his feet, silently making it clear the conversation was over. Percy was for the first time thankful he already knew about the camp black market; he had no desire to be pranked again while trying to discreetly get toiletries because he didn't know the ropes.

"Right, thank you, I'll probably take you up on that," Percy stood up as he spoke, suddenly desperate to be _somewhere._ Preferably with the sea closer. And without younger versions of people who had tried to kill him or that he had just watched die. At the last second, though, he remembered his previous ideas, and called to the counselor.

"Though, Luke, could you or the Stolls get me a notebook?"

"Um, sure. Just, mind if I ask why?" Without thinking, the black-haired boy out of time went for the obvious answer with a secretive grin.

"I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you." Luke let out a surprised laugh and Percy took the chance to take one last study of someone Annabeth had hero-worshipped for years. With a genuine smile smoothing away the harsh lines carved by time, and the sun catching the gold in his hair, Percy could see how half the camp had mooned after him—including Silena and Annabeth at one point, he knew.

_Shut up, brain. SO do not need those images._

"Fine, fine, like you could take me in fight anyway. Just know you can go to me or Chiron if there's something you need to talk about, right?"

Percy nodded silently, and didn't relax until Luke was out of earshot, letting out a long, heaving sigh.

This was not going to be fun. Seriously, there had to be a limit to the amount of weird one person's life could have.

As he finally stood up to go and refresh his memory of the camp layout—pre-Hera-fuckery memories were a little fuzzy—he could have sworn he saw a flash of gold out of the corner of his eye as the waves crashed on the rocks below.

* * *

Eight hours and an _extremely_ awkward conversation with Annabeth later, ("Look, Wise Girl —" "Did you just call me _Wise Girl?_ ") Percy was hiding in a cove on the rocky beach, one black, slightly worn notebook ("I promise, Percy, completely paid for—"), pen, and borrowed flashlight in hands.

After glancing up at the glittering night sky, sans one constellation—permanently, if he had anything to say about it—Percy stuck his pencil behind his ear, and viewed his Official Time Traveller's Guide To Preventing the Mythic Apocalypse by Percy Jackson—A.K.A., list of godly screw-ups to correct this time around, because this was his life now.

In Greek, of course. Percy had no desire to deal with dyslexia while trying to save the world.

_-Get Bianca and Nico out of the Lotus ASAP —talk to Uncle._

_-Suggest to Chiron Golden Fleece could fix Thalia._

_-Calypso — ~~use powers?~~ build raft?  Something._

_-Keep an eye on Silena + Beckendorf.  
_

_-Deal with Aunty M._

_-Find the Labyrinth, talk to D with Rachel.  
_

_-Find Bessie, get her somewhere safe._

_-Keep Luke from hosting Kronos at all costs._

_-Find Circe, Hylla + Reyna, direct towards Amazons and Camp J —reach out to Romans later._

_-Find the rest of the Seven —tell Thalia about Jason, when given chance—Hazel?  
_

_-Fill in gaps of myths knowledge, work on Latin —ask Annabeth?_

__-Find out who thought me saving the world after going back in time was a good idea, and kick their asses into next century._ _

"What could go wrong?" he breathed.

"Everything, little brother. One would think you know that by now." Percy whipped around, reaching for a pen that wasn't there, only for his jaw to drop in shock at the person standing in the mouth of the cove.

_"You?"_


	3. Family: Just Can't Live with Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, PTSD, brief mild gore in the second section. Ain't a pretty chapter, folks.

_"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."  
_

_-Bilbo Baggins,_ The Hobbit

* * *

_"You?"_

"Me, little brother." Triton, immortal heir of Poseidon, and general arrogant pain in the ass, smiled grimly. Belatedly, Percy remembered to act dumb _,_ pasting a dumbfounded look on his face, and scrambling backwards, notebook in hand and flashlight dropped, forgotten in his shock.

"Who? Wha-Who are you?"

The elder son of Poseidon merely rolled his green eyes in a manner Percy was intimately familiar with—it had been his reaction to many a god. "Do not attempt to play the fool with me, _brother_. Now, where is it?"

 _Shit. Please don't be talk_ —

"Where is the Master Bolt?" Triton questioned threateningly.

_Double shit._

"I-I d-don't know wh-what—what you're talking about," Percy finally managed to somewhat convincingly stutter out. "Who the hell are you?"

"Also, please quite the brother nonsense," he added facetiously, attempting to disguise any recognition on his part. "I really don't feel I know enough about you to be sure you won't try to kill me, let alone call you family. "

The demigod scrambled to his feet, mind racing. Sadly, this did little to erase the imposing effect the immortal had, seeing as Percy barely came up to his shoulder. _Right, no growth spurt until after Atlas tries to kill me._

Triton advanced on him, a gleaming bronze trident appearing in his hand. "Quite the games, and tell me if you already gave it to him or not. _Brother._ "

"Listen," Percy began, anger that had been barely suppressed all day bubbling in his chest. Behind his half-sibling, the ocean began to recede, similar to the moments before a tsunami. "I don't know who you are, what a 'Master Bolt' is, or this him you're talking about is, and even if I did, there is no damn reason for me to tell you, Armed-And-Dangerous! Again— _who are you_?""

"Fine, little brother, if you insist on playing that game, I will give you one: our grandfather!" he retorted. Percy almost fell over. _Please. . .not him. Not now._

"Our. . .grandfather? Sebastian, I told you: I don't know you, you're not my brother; lunacy doesn't run in my family."

At this, Triton outright _growled_ in frustration. "Cease with the lies! I know the truth; I _saw_ the Lord of Time's power flare not even twelve hours ago within the camp in close proximity to you! If I hadn't known better, I would have said there was a connection between your soul and the Titan's. It is already quite obvious he sent you back in time for some task, and you know perfectly well who I am. What other explanation could there be for the Titan's power and your presence other than you being the lightning thief?"

It was worth repeating again: _double shit._

Dumbfounded, Percy's grip loosened on the black notebook, and fell back on old habits, muttering with the resent of the bitter innocent, "I'm not the thief."

Instead of deeming it with a response, Triton disappeared in a flash—or rather, a spray of water—and reappeared behind Percy, summoning the notebook out of his hand, quickly thumbing it open to where Percy had been writing. Percy clenched his fists, nearly swallowing his own tongue in attempting to restrain his own urge to outright snatch the notebook back; at this stage, he'd only end up as a dolphin for his efforts.

"Mind giving it back, Baywatch?" _Annabeth would be so proud_ _—that was almost polite._

Triton didn't even look at him, or acknowledge him. Instead, beneath his perpetual golden tan, Percy's immortal half-brother seemed to gradually be losing all of the color in his skin as he stared at what Percy had written, and began to sink to the ground, green eyes wide. Percy slowly approached him, picking up the flashlight while telegraphing his every move, as he remembered with a brief jolt of pure fear just what he had written in there; a list of nonsense to fix and stuff to get done, but also important points from the past, particularly hints that certain events had been sent in motion.

As he neared, he couldn't help but feel, for the first time, _nervous_ in his brother's presence, his stomach roiling with nausea and worry.

He had been angry before, yes. On the rare occasions he had met Triton, they were both on the verge of trying to kill each other. But this was new, and Percy had little idea of how to react without the buffer of their shared parent, a healer, or you know, a fucking war. Convenient, those. _I think I preferred it when he was accusing me of treason against Olympus._

"Triton?" he whispered. As he debated the merit of reaching out—namely, the dolphin factor—the minor god's head snapped up, matching eyes locking.

"It would seem. . .I have. . .misjudged you, Perseus." he slowly said in a dazed tone.

Percy's jaw dropped as he was handed the notebook, and Triton raked his fingers through curly mahogany hair—inherited from Amphitrite, Percy knew—after the hoarse admission; if he were mortal, Percy imagined he would have begun to wear a hole in the ground with pacing.

It would also seem he underestimated the intelligence of his brother, if his guess was correct. Suspiciously, Percy asked, "Misjudge me how?"

Triton looked at him, eyes dark. For a minute, he said nothing, and in the silence, Percy could hear waves crash against the sand.

"You seek to prevent war and disaster you already know is coming; it is an admirable honorable deed, Perseus, if a difficult one. You have chosen to face the storm instead of running. But, I do not understand. If you are not working for Grandfather, who sent you?"

Percy scoffed. "No one _sent_ me anywhere. My luck's just a bit shittier than the average demigod's; I just woke up this morning, remembering years that didn't happen."

Triton nodded, his gaze speculative as he stared off into the distance. Then suddenly he stood up, picking up his discarded weapon, reaching for the conch on his waist. "We must inform Father."

Of all the things Percy was expecting to come out of his half-brother's mouth, that was not it. "Whoa whoa whoa, tell _Dad?_ You really are crazy—we can't tell him."

Now, Triton looked at him like he was insane; a familiar look today, Percy realized. "Perseus, the timeline you are from, regardless of how you got here, is one where our Grandfather, the Lord of Time, rose again, hosted by a mortal. My parents can help."

"I don't—hell, _you_ don't—know what change that interference will do! It could make things worse, and I'm the only one who remembers what happened!"

"Perseus," Triton snapped, his grip tightening on his trident, before forcibly relaxing his demeanor, from the looks of it. "Titans are a problem for gods, not ignorant, unclaimed, twelve-year-old brats like you!"

" _I am_ _not twelve,_ " Percy gritted out, his fists clenched. He had been tip-toed around since the moment he got up, and this conversation was proving the last straw. "And my _name_ is Percy."

"Of course," he said, condescension dripping from every word. "Nevertheless, this is a problem for too big for you—"

But he never finished his sentence, when he was hit full in the face with a small tidal wave. It didn't affect Triton, of course. But it sure as hell got his attention.

It was the first day, and Percy was already finished with being underestimated; particularly where either of the clusterfucks that had determined his life were concerned.

"I fought him. In the war, several times," Percy said firmly.

Triton's jaw slackened, and he opened his mouth, but Percy was far from finished. As he continued to speak, his voice raised until he was almost yelling in Triton's face. "Once when I was fifteen, the others rose a little less than a year later. I defeated Hyperion and Iapetus in combat, and guess how often I had help? I lead Camp Half-Blood to war against _dear_ old Gramps, and I watched him cut down my friends like they were _nothing._ Hell, I took on the Curse of fucking Achilles just so _someone_ would stand a chance against him, and did a bunch of other crazy shit that by all rights should have killed me and everyone else a million times over!"

Percy paused to swallow roughly, the memory of Beckendorf and Silena and so many others cloying in its intensity; once his personal ghosts were under control, he continued in a low, dangerous voice that promised violence if he wasn't believed.

" _Never_ accuse me of not knowing who I'm dealing with, presuming where I've been, or belittling what I've done. Odds are, I've already been there, fought that."

But, as Percy knew well, stubbornness was hereditary.

"Then you must realize how important it is to get help to strike a preemptive blow!" Triton declared incredulously.

"No, that's not—" Percy broke off suddenly, turning away in frustration. He was getting nowhere; at this rate, his brother would get worked up enough to drag Percy to Atlantis himself. Then, another form of attack occurred to him.

"Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?" His tone was brusque, piercing the silence as the two brother brooded in different directions. "It's the idea that one small change can cause something huge somewhere else."

Triton frowned, his expression contemplative. "And you believe this— _butterfly effect_ is what will happen here?"

Sensing an opening, Percy nodded vigorously. "I know that's what at stake here. We may head off one threat, but for all we know it'll cause something else to happen that didn't last time. We'll be blindsided."

The curly-haired immortal's brow furrowed as he observed the crashing waves. "You mean that this. . .butterfly effect may cause a disaster worse than what you witnessed?"

"Yes," Percy said immediately. "Ten times worse, a hundred times worse. If we alter too much, who knows what'll happen instead?"

For a moment, Percy said nothing before curtly nodding.

"You have a point," His immortal sibling's tone was grudging, but Percy knew a victory when he saw one. "Perhaps, it would be. . .best to remain silent to others. For now, that is, if you are right. Now that you mention it, I believe I've heard mortals make mention of it before, concerning hurricanes."

"Alright, then. So we're cool?" Percy asked. Triton ignored him, and turned away to pace, thinking out loud.

"You will nearly be worth the trouble as one of Father's bastards, then. It will need to be accounted for, to ensure you don't prove detrimental."

Percy made a noise of indignation, but Triton ignored him, and continued to blindside Percy as he continued to ponder.

"I think I will train you. Or perhaps I will ask Aphros and Bythos; I believe they will make an exception in light of the circumstances—"

"Afro- _who_ now?"

"—And of course, you will have to learn how to wield a trident."

"Okay, time out," Percy interrupted, holding up his hands. "A _trident?_ A sword is just fine, thank you."

As long as it was a _xiphos_ , called Riptide, and maybe-cursed by Zoë or Heracles? Percy honestly wasn't quite sure on the particulars of that last one. Just that Heracles was a berk.

"It would not do for you to disgrace your kin and heritage," Triton answered imperiously. "A trident will give you more versatility in combat, and as a child of a sea god, it will come far more naturally to you than sword-fighting ever will."

"Really, now." His tone was skeptical, but Percy couldn't help but wonder at the possibilities. Besides, if things stayed the same at Camp, he wasn't getting Riptide—short of stealing it—until the quest for the Master Bolt.

"Besides," Triton added thoughtfully. "If it isn't you who fulfills the Prophecy, it will be someone else, and Zeus's children are braggarts, while Hades's children are nearly always half-mad. You are the least of the evils."

"It warms my heart to know you think that way." Percy's response was wry as the two children of the sea walked into the glimmering blue water; Triton's legs, Percy noted with interest, had begun to turn somewhat scaly beneath the Bermuda shorts he wore, and his skin had taken on a green tinge. But before he disappeared beneath the surface, he turned and gave Percy a warning look.

"I still don't like you, you know. Be careful you do not lose my good will through any foolishness."

Percy tilted his head up at his brother and grinned puckishly. "Feeling's entirely mutual, _brother._ "

* * *

_It took a minute before Percy could see anything. But when his eyes finally adjusted to the dim red light, he immediately regretted wishing for his sight. Without a pause, he could tell he was standing in Camp Half-Blood, in front of where the Big House was, under a black sky without stars, clouds, or moon.  
_

_Or where it should have been. It was gone. In its place was only ashes, and what appeared to be the skeleton of a wheelchair. Percy attempted to step forward, yell for Chiron, **someone** , but he couldn't move, frozen in place; Khione, however, was nowhere in sight. A minute later, he managed to slowly turn his head, and see the cabins and forest. Or rather, what was left of them._

_The wooden cabins of Demeter and countless others had left no trace after their destruction, while those of metal and stone were twisted and burnt almost beyond recognition. The forest was a blazing wildfire, Thalia's tree long since gone, he somehow knew in his bones; as he listened, Percy could have sworn he heard Juniper and her sisters scream._

_And still, no one to be found._

_Suddenly he felt a prick of pain in his hands; when he looked down, the young man_ _—and it was young man now, if the familiar scars were anything to go by_ _—realized he had been clenching his hands hard enough to draw blood. Stiffly, he began to shift forward, and took a step into a dark puddle, only to recoil with disgust and no small amount of sheer_ _when he recognized the substance._

_It was blood. And if he were a betting man, Percy would put a lot of money on it belonging to. . .well._

_"Little demigod, count the dead." Gaea._

_Percy whipped his head up, frantically looking for the source of the female voice, even as he struggled to move, the air itself seeming to thicken around him, and restrain him.  
_

_"Count how many went up against me and failed. You think you can do better?"_

_And then he saw them, and had to struggle not to be sick.  
_

_Bianca. Her blank face accusing, fingers outstretched to her brother in death, lying before the son of Poseidon. Beside them_ _—Di Immortales, **no**_ _—Tyson, his one eye unseeing, his chest covered in his won blood. And so many more._

_Silena. Frank. Rachel. Thalia. Grover. Annabeth. Hazel. Jason. Gods above, his **Mom** and **Paul.** All around him, the land, Gaea, was littered with the dead._

__"No," he whispered. **"No."**  
_ _

_"Count yourself among the dead, Perseus Jackson._ __You will soon rejoin them."_ she hissed, the venom curling around him, suffocating._

_"Percy." But that wasn't right. She sounded like someone else now, male.  
_

_"Percy!"_

_"PERCY!"_

"No!" Percy jerked awake, bolting upright, right into the hard skull of Luke Castellan. He fell away, clutching his nose as Percy curled on himself, his mind still racing.

_Not real, not real, not real, fuck **it's not real,** Jackson._

Percy continued to take in rapid, shallow breaths, cold sweat trickling down his spine, unable to think or acknowledge Luke or any of the other Hermes campers. Distantly, as his lungs seemed to seize on him and his heartbeat pounded in his ears, he realized he was having a panic attack.

"Breathe with me. C'mon, kid, slowly now. In, and out. In, out."

Automatically, Percy did his best to obey, badly at first. But after what seemed an eternity, he began to actually feel the oxygen reach his brain, and the pounding began to recede, as he followed the instruction.

"In, and out. You know where you are, Percy?" Luke asked quietly.

Percy nodded mutely, still focusing on maintaining his breathing and the fact he had just had a _fucking panic attack_.

"Listen, I'm going to help you up, if that's okay with you, and then we're going to the Big House to talk with Chiron—and away from this nosy lot!" As he finished, Luke raised his voice, causing the pale campers to scramble back into their beds, Hermes's kids quickly and expertly feigning sleep.

"Is that fine?"

Percy looked up at Luke, wary. "Must we?"

Luke sighed. "It's your choice, Jackson, but I'd feel a lot better knowing you talked to Chiron. Before you were waking up, you were screaming yourself hoarse, something about some people called Nico and Rachel? You were muttering a lot."

Percy quickly shook his head, slightly rattled at the names coming out of Luke, and quickly agreed if only to shut him up, meekly following Luke out of Cabin Eleven.

But as the two walked through camp, Percy came to the most disturbing conclusion yet, post-time fuckery.

_I just had Luke Castellan work me through a panic attack. There are no words in Greek, Latin, or English to describe how screwed I am._

* * *

"Percy, young Luke has informed me that you woke up rather violently from a nightmare."

"Something like that."

"Your mother?"

". . .Something like that. It wasn't that bad."

"Bullshit. You were screaming your head off."

"Language, Luke. Perseus, is there anything you want to talk about?"

"No, sir. I'm fine."

* * *

"No," Percy said firmly. "What I could do is snowboard on that thing; fighting is another story. I'd just fall over and give Clarisse an easy victory."

"Without it, you'll probably just give her an easy victory anyway," Luke countered. "She'll be able to skewer you without even trying."

"I can take care of myself," Percy insisted, even as he realized how ridiculous that would sound to anyone who hadn't seen him fight in the Before.

Luke glared at him. "Kid, I swear to Olympus, I will tape you to that shield if I have to."

"And _I_ swear to Olympus, the millisecond you turn your back I'm gonna tear it off." Jaw set, Percy met him, tit for tat, even as he wondered at the changes already found just by existing, weaved through his new-ish life here.

After the Incident That Luke Is Never Ever Talking About If He Wants To Live This Time, he and Percy had become somewhat closer, establishing a line of banter, with Luke getting it into his head Percy needed help, seeing as Clarisse was out for his head as usual, and Annabeth still wasn't talking to him. Already, things had permanently changed—for the better, Percy hoped.

During the sword fighting class, Luke had been somewhat kinder in pushing everyone, and had almost immediately offered private lessons to Percy after displaying seemingly natural talent with a sword. _Naturally gifted, my ass._ _Perk of getting to sixteen without dying._

More importantly, the ever-present bitterness that had accompanied Luke before he had left camp had nearly dissipated completely, as Percy deliberately poked and prodded at his knowledge of the gods whenever they were alone, feigning curiosity between jabs at possible parentage as a long-lost child of Athena. The anger was still there, but it was quickly becoming very obvious what parts were fanned by Kronos and what was genuinely Luke. Frustratingly, the latter was proving stubborn to deal with.

However, it had caused a unexpected side effect: as the Summer Solstice neared, and the skies darkened, Luke had become increasingly agitated, constantly jumping at the rumbles of thunder off in the distance, and crashes of waves against cliffs. The other day, he had even snapped at Annabeth, whose crush was worse than Percy had ever remembered it being. Not that Percy had an opinion on it or anything. It was just a bit weird to be seeing.

Sighing, Percy picked up the sword he temporarily called his, an unexpected pang going through his chest at the thought of Riptide.

"Right," Annabeth called, disturbing Luke and Percy's staring contest. "Luke, you're in the advance guard. Jackson, you're on border patrol by the river."

_Because of course I am._

The black-haired teenager began to trudge off to his post and round two with Clarisse and Lamer the First, but not before Luke called out to him again.

"Percy? Forgetting something?" The son of Hermes smirked as he offered the gargantuan shield to Percy.

_Damn it._

* * *

"Flag's the other way," Percy said lightly. Clarisse scowled threateningly at him, raising her spear as the other children of Ares hovered.

Suddenly she thrust it forward, and Percy rolled to the side on instinct, landing in a crouch, almost falling into the river. He raised his sword as Clarisse lunged, hand wobbling slightly as he attempted to work with the imbalance. _REALLY could use my own sword right now. Or even the gods-damned shield.  
_

Percy managed to deflect her blow, but not without getting a large dose of electricity in the process; he dropped his sword as his arm went numb, stumbling into the water. At his fall, the daughter of Ares gave an ugly chortle that was echoed by her cronies, Uglies Numbers One through Four.

"Not so tough without your body guard, huh?" she mocked. Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he gasped for breath.

"Wha—What are you talking about it? 'Sides, what would you call your goons, Clarisse?" Percy attempted to play for time, and silently willed the pain in his arm away. Thankfully, Clarisse had yet to figure out the meaning of the word _subtlety_ in this timeline.

"Luke Castellan," The sneer in her tone was as potent as Percy's urge to facepalm. Getting the attention of the son of Hermes had been a hell of a double-edged sword, to say the least. "He's far too interested in a wimp like you, Prissy."

Percy held up his hands. "Clarisse, last I checked, it's perfectly fine for you to ask him out yourself. I mean, it's not healthy for you to bottle up your feel—"

Before he finished, Percy was forced to duck as Clarisse wildly swung out her spear, stalking into the water and blind with rage. Her stooges didn't even bother to follow, laughing on the sidelines as he stumbled around like a newbie.

_Hook, line, and sinker._

Recharged from the river swirling around him, Percy lunged forward and briefly feinted to the left before swinging the other way, cutting Lamer Senior in two. The brown-haired girl's eyes widened, but the son of Poseidon didn't stop, turning his sword and swinging it back with both hands to hit her in the jaw. Clarisse went down, clutching her face as she shrieked.

"Get the punk!"

Uglies One and Two advanced, but he was ready for them, twisting his sword around to hit One in the chin with the pommel hard enough to hear the impact, and ducked Two's javelin flying through the air to hit them with the flat of the bronze blade, knocking their helmet clean off.

Percy kept his sword raised for the next attack, but surprisingly—or perhaps not—Stooges Three and Four were nowhere to be found. Percy turned to Clarisse, who briefly looked almost _lost_ before she saw him, and her glare returned, more poisonous than ever.

"Got something to say, Jackson?" she spit.

And it would have been so easy for Percy to gloat. To say how even strength had to fail, how she shouldn't underestimate him again. In the previous timeline, Clarisse had even admitted that his taunts combined with such a stinging defeat had been what originally earned him her _very_ grudging respect, considering him strong in his refusal to show weakness—read: being _nice_ —to someone he defeated.

Except.

He also remembered her pride in the last timeline. How terrified she had looked at the prospect of her fall at his hands getting back to her ass of a father. How desperate she had been to make Ares proud.

Percy could empathize. Internally, Percy sighed. _I'm gonna regret this in about. . .oh, thirty seconds?_

Percy extended his hand. When Clarisse just stared, he raised his eyebrows. "I already beat you. Just don't pull me down. I suspect there's a swirlie in my future anyway."

"Damn straight," Clarisse growled. "That spear was a gift."

But she took his hand, and pulled herself to her feet. While she didn't make any effort to keep him from falling, Percy wasn't yanked down either.

For a long moment, the two demigods stared at each other. Then, Clarisse stalked back to her team's side of the bank, and picked up her discarded shield; her goons, looking shell-shocked, followed suit.

"This," Clarisse gestured between herself and Percy. "Never happened. Got it, punk?"

"As long as you don't make another appointment with me and the toilets," Percy returned, pointing at her with his sword, the point wobbling ever-so-slightly. _I hate this sword more than Medusa, the war, and Gabe's stink combined._

Clarisse nodded curtly. "I hope Chase kills you for letting the enemy go."

She and her goons ran off, leaving Percy standing in the river. As they disappeared into the trees, Percy relaxed, relieved they hadn't noticed the dampness of his clothes—or rather, the lack thereof. He walked to dry land in his team's territory, and went off to patrol in the general area he knew Luke would probably return in, when he heard an ominous growl.

Exasperated, he tilted his head back. _Now? Really? At least the Ares kids are gone this time.  
_

"I don't suppose you could be Mrs. O'Leary?" Percy muttered, turning around slowly. From the shadows, another rumbling growl came, and Percy could see a pair of malicious red eyes gleaming.

_Nope._

The thrice-damned hellhound suddenly leapt out of the shadows, and instinct kicked in as he dove forward, adrenaline flowing again. The dog, still the size of a rhinosaurus, flew over his head, and undeterred, did a one-eighty as soon as it hit the ground, claws scrabbling for purchase. Against his better judgment, he charged forward, sword pointed forward, similar to the lance of a jouster.

The monster gladly met him measure for measure and ran at him, displaying his sharp fangs. At the last moment of the round of chicken, Percy dropped as the hound leapt, sliding into the metaphorical home plate. Percy swung up wildly, once, then twice, hitting flesh, before rolling to the side as quickly as he could.

But not quite quickly enough. Even as the creature fell, its claws still pierced his side, ripping the armor there to shreds. Percy grimaced as hot pain lanced up his side, dropping his sword back into the river.

Thankfully, at that moment, Luke came racing across the river, flanked by the Stolls and a couple Apollo kids, waving a banner painted with Ares's colors and sacred animal high above his head. Clarisse and the rest of her team was in hot pursuit, but weren't quite fast enough as the banner exploded into silver, an owl replacing the boar. Cheers erupted from Percy's team as they converged on the son of Hermes, raising him on their shoulders.

Luke's own triumphant grin, however, faded when his eyes landed on Percy.

"Percy!" He launched himself off of his teammates, and yelled for Chiron as he made for the younger camper. As he ran to Percy, he carelessly dropped the banner.

"Shield. . .wouldn't have helped," Percy managed, giving Luke a pained grin, even as he staggered into the river, seemingly by accident. Luke quickly darted forward, slipping his arm carefully under his shoulders.

"Shut up and focus on breathing," Luke ordered as he attempted to drag Percy out of the water. Chiron trotted up to the pair with Grover behind him, both of their faces grim.

 _"Di Immortales,"_ Grover yelped as he helped Luke support Percy. "Is that a hellhound?"

Chiron didn't respond, his eyes locked on Percy's side, which, he noticed, was beginning to tingle familiar sense of healing.

"Luke, Grover, let him go," The centaur advised.

Luke glanced up at him, his face disbelieving. "Chiron, he's bleeding to de—"

"Luke, _look_ at him."

"Perce," Grover began nervously. "Why, exactly, is your side healing over?" _Show time._

With false shock, Percy looked down, and back up at Chiron, whose face was grim. Luke's face was pale, and he promptly staggered away from Percy, mouthing a single word over and over again as he stared at Percy's side, seemingly willing it to do. . . _something_. Grover just looked uncomprehending at his best friend, and Percy couldn't blame him. Behind the centaur, both teams of campers were nearly silent, some pointing at him, at the river, and back again; Percy had to work to not roll his eyes and instead project confusion.

The whispers flared up when the hologram of a trident flickered into being above his head.

"It is determined," Chiron declared. "Your father has claimed you."

"Wait, my _father?"_ Percy exclaimed, the bewilderment perhaps a _tad_ exaggerated as he noted Annabeth looking at him suspiciously. Under his breath, he added with a fair dose of sarcasm, "Say it ain't so."

Grover snorted, even as he shot Percy a worried look. Chiron, oblivious to the interplay, continued.

"Poseidon, your father," The centaur intoned. "Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God. "

_Here we go again.  
_

* * *

_Below the son of Poseidon, below even his uncle's realm and the lands of the dead, something stirred in the darkness, where even the gods feared to walk._

_The Lord of Time smiled._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, I am taking all the liberties with Triton. There is too much fun to be had to not take them. Also, I am screwing with the timeline here: In this universe, Percy arrives approximately four days before Capture the Flag. In canon, it's about two weeks. Feel free to leave feedback on the changes!  
> 


	4. Where Nothing Going Wrong Is a Bad Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing.

* * *

_"I have a bad feeling about this."  
_

-Everyone, _Star Wars_

* * *

"Just to make sure I have everything straight, Perseus: After coming back in time with your memories, you are about to repeat a quest with the fate of Western Civilization at stake where you're _not going to change anything?_ "

Triton was incredulous, and Percy couldn't blame him. At first glance, it _did_ seem to be a bad idea. Actually, it was probably a bad idea. But all of his other ideas were worse, so the probably-bad-with-a-slight-chance-of-alright one was what he was sticking with.

"Look, there are several things that if we don't deal with, will come back to kill us in horrible ways later. Also, I'm not keeping _everything_ the same."

"Right," Triton responded, his tone disbelieving. "How could I forget—you're going to unleash Hades's spawn on the world earlier than necessary."

"I'm not _unleashing_ Nico and Bianca earlier than necessary," Percy groused irritably. _Seriously, how many times have we been over this?_ "If I get them out now, they won't be left to outside influence, and there's a better chance of Bianca not dying while fighting Talos since they can learn how to use their powers earlier."

He still couldn't believe he'd actually remembered the name of the giant robot in the desert. Or that Triton insisted on being such an ass about Bianca and Nico. The prophecy, not that it mattered at all, was a non-issue, and he owed both of them so much that he couldn't leave them alone. Besides, they were _family._

"But the eldest, Bertha—" Triton insisted.

_"Bianca."_

"Beth—she _is_ younger than you, correct?" The look on Triton's face promised the godly equivalent of a headlock until Percy changed his mind if the answer was no. Thankfully, he was pretty sure there would be no need for a fight.

Percy nodded his head. "She was barely eleven when they went into the Casino, I think."

"And remind me why _I_ simply cannot take them out?"

The demigod sighed. "Because they don't know you, and I wouldn't be surprised if the Furies—" He ignored the hissing from Triton. "—showed up to protect them from you."

Or if Nico judged him based upon his Mythomagic card. If Triton had one, that was; did he have one, Percy wondered?

Triton gazed at Percy, before ruefully rolling his eyes. "Is there any other half-baked plan of yours I should know about before letting you run off on this ill-conceived notion of Chiron's?"

"Seeing as you're not my mother, no," Percy chirped brightly. "But as my highly infuriating half-brother, I will give you the list of expected monsters and traps we will most likely encounter, just in case."

Accordingly, he handed Triton the list.

_New Jersey: Take care of Aunty M, try not to fight Furies?_

_St. Louis: Avoid Arch w/Echidna, Chimera._

_Las Vegas: Try not to provoke god of war, get Di Angelos out, keep track of time._

_Los Angeles: Procrustes; get Mom back, try not to fight Clarisse's dad.  
_

Triton, in a surprisingly human gesture, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Perseus, please tell me 'Aunty M' is not some strange pseudonym for Medusa, and that you have no intention of picking a fight with my half-wit cousin."

"Aunty M is not some strange pseudonym for Medusa and I have no intention of picking a fight with your half-wit cousin," Percy dutifully parroted. Inwardly, he fought a smile. He'd never heard the half-wit cousin line before.

Triton growled in frustration, before extending a box out of nowhere to the black-haired teenager. "Here. If Chiron does not give you Anaklusmos, this should provide you an advantage; I would not recommend letting the daughter of Athena see it."

Percy cautiously took the wooden box and cracked it open, before part of what he had said registered. "Wait—how d'you know about Riptide?"

Triton smirked. "I am a god, Perseus. I know many things."

Percy ran the sentence through his Triton-to-Normal-People-English translator. "You stole my notebook again."

"Perhaps. I am a god, after all."

"A minor one," he muttered vindictively, before peering inside the container, only to find a miniature bronze trident, strung onto a necklace of black cord.

"Not really my style, Sebastian," he wondered out loud, even as he put it around his neck. "Mind sharing with the class?"

"Must everything be spelled out to you?" Triton implored, before explaining in a tone normally reserved for toddlers, "It is enchanted. When you are in battle, you can pull it off, and it will enlarge into the real article—with adjustments made for your height as you grow, hopefully."

"I'll have you know I am a perfectly normal height for my age," Percy argued. "You're the one that's freakishly tall."

"Of course you are, brother," Triton soothed. "Now, settle into your preferred sword-fighting stance."

"Is this the part where you tell me everything I've been doing wrong, ever?" he questioned, despite rolling his weight back onto his heels and taking the weapon out from around his neck at the same time, stumbling backwards on instinct as it extended. "Because if so, this isn't going to end well."

"No, idiot brother of mine. Instead, I am going to show you how to modify your stance when wielding a trident so that you don't impale yourself the first time you try to use it in battle."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "What happened to all that nonsense about me being 'naturally talented' as a son of Poseidon?"

"I said naturally talented as a child of the Big Three," Triton retorted. "I never said it would cancel out your naturally idiotic as _you_ tendencies. Now, give me your best shot."

Percy took in his half-brother's relaxed posture and cocky grin with no small amount of trepidation, before debating whether running really was the better part of valor after all. _Whatever happened to not picking fights with immortals?_

* * *

Two hours and— _so damn many, gods above, **why**_ —bruises later, Percy was stumbling back to his cabin when his ex-girlfriend almost got the drop on him.

That is, she would've, if Percy hadn't retained an awareness and reflexes honed by two wars and motherfucking Tartarus— _and bad idea to go there, Jackson._

She attempted to pin him against the wall of Cabin Two, only for her to have her own move reversed, before he quickly relaxed his grip on the daughter of Athena, letting her go.

However, he did take the precaution of confiscating her knife. No need to tempt the Fates anymore than he naturally did, after all.

"What the hell, Annabeth?" he hissed. The last thing either of them needed was rousing half the camp and having to explain why they were out after hours.

"Did you steal the Master Bolt?"

At Annabeth's question, Percy's jaw dropped.

"What? N—What's the Master Bolt?"

However, Annabeth caught his slip-up, and stepped right up to him, her eyes stormy. "You know what it is, Jackson. I know you weren't nearly as surprised by your claiming as the rest of us, and you defeated Clarisse without breaking a sweat, and nearly had a panic attack the first time you woke up at the Big House. You know something about what's going on, so 'fess up before I yell for Chiron."

As she finished ticking off the facts, Percy internally sighed. _I really need to work on my acting skills._

For a long moment, his mind whirled as he tried to figure out how to bullshit his way through this. There was no way he was willingly telling her the truth, and even if he did, no one had the time—or the margin for error—for him to prove it if he did.

Then the obvious answer hit him. _Play dumb, Jackson. She's not expecting anything more._ "Mrs. Dodds mentioned it."

The blonde' anger faded a little at the odd statement. "Mrs. _who?_ "

A brief smirk crossed his face. He'd understood none of the book when forced to read it in school, but he remembered enough to probably defuse Annabeth's rage a little more. "Not her. Or Mrs. Whatsit or Mrs. Which."

" _You_ read _A Wrinkle in Time?_ "

Percy gave a self-deprecating shrug at her shock. _More like, it was inflicted on me; stupid English classes._

But all that did was remind him of Paul, and he felt his smile warp into a grimace. "The three ladies are all I remember, so don't get impressed. Mrs. Dodds was my math teacher who tried to kill me."

Annabeth tilted her head, "And. . ."

"And she accused me of stealing something called the Master Bolt. It's not good, clearly."

_Close enough._

The daughter of Athena snorted at the understatement, but the suspicion was still lingering beneath the surface. "Then you won't mind me coming on the quest with you."

At the statement, Percy started as much out of surprise than acting skills. Last time, she had come on the quest out of a desire to leave camp and save the world; now, she plain didn't trust him. _I'm pretty sure this is what Paul would have called irony. Probably._

"And if I do?" Annabeth gave him a deceptively sweet smile.

"Then I take my suspicions to Mister D and Chiron." Percy raked his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Our parents don't get along, do they?" he said lightly as he began to walk back to Cabin Three, Annabeth on his heels.

"What tipped you off, Seaweed Brain?"

At the familiar moniker spit out as an insult, it took everything for Percy to not give a visceral reaction, instead spewing his normal sarcasm. "Oh, I don't know. Death threats are probably what tipped me off—"

"Don't be silly, if I wanted you dead, you would know it—"

"Is there a particular _reason_ you're so suspicious of me?" Percy demanded. "Or do you like to terrorize me?"

"I told you," Annabeth retorted. "You've been acting suspiciously, and with everything going on—"

"Or maybe," Percy interrupted heatedly. "It has something to do with the fact I found out a week ago I'm the son of some god who can't keep it in his pants, and my _Mom_ was taken but the freaking Lord of the Dead, and that I've been in more danger the past couple of days than I've ever been in the last twelve years."

"Don't be silly, you've always been in that danger, same as the rest of us, it's normal—"

_"Well, it wasn't for me."_

In the heat of the fight, the son of Poseidon couldn't help but feel like he was twelve again: angry, afraid, and in desperate need of someone who would just _listen._ "I had a _normal_ life, Annabeth. It wasn't perfect, but I had a normal life with a mom I love and awesome best friend. Now, I've been thrust into this world where I have no idea what's going on, and everyone's expecting something that they won't tell me about, but are just fine with killing me over it."

Annabeth didn't reply at this, and giving Percy a blessed moment to regain his equilibrium. More quietly, he added, "I don't want to fight you, Annabeth, but I literally have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't steal this Boss Bolt—"

"Master Bolt."

"—And I just want my mother back." With his temper running his course, Percy began to feel the fatigue brought on by the punishing lesson with his half-brother, who expected nothing but what his taller, more muscular, eighteen-year-old self was capable of. _Fun times, those._

"But at your claiming—"

"I was in shock, and had just been attacked by an oversized dog; shock's not unheard of. It's not a crime to admit you were wrong, Wise Girl." Percy gave her a wan smile, mentally hoping she could work through her pride. The Annabeth he had remembered had openly admitted her fatal flaw, but the one in front of him still believed she was always right. Some days, it had saved his ass; others, well. The less said those days, the better. They tended to be proper trainwrecks on all sides, him included.

Finally, Annabeth sighed, the suspicion in her eyes almost disappearing.

"I shouldn't have been so hasty," Annabeth said. While her tone contained defiance, her eyes told a far different story. "It's just, our parents don't get along well."

Percy feigned confusion. He'd always liked when she told the story. "What are you talking about?"

"It began in ancient times, when the people of Athens were deciding who would be their patron; my mother created the olive tree, while your father made some stupid salt water spring, and the rivalry began."

Percy pretended to think for a moment. "But no god invented pizza? 'Cause I'd totally go with whoever invented _that._ "

"Jackson! The olive tree was vital to the economy of Greece, serving many uses—"

"Yeah, no, still would go with pizza."

Annabeth threw up her hands. "You're insufferable. No wonder our parents can't work toge—"

"But, still, didn't our parents ever work together, even once?" Percy questioned; Annabeth stopped dead at this, same as last time. So did Percy, actually. _Definitely not expecting **that** to come out of my mouth.  
_

"Well, I suppose there was the chariot. . ."

Percy gave an involuntary smile as he watched her mind at work behind her eyes, and suddenly felt a fierce pang of loneliness—not just for his girlfriend, but for _anyone_ , who knew him as he was, not the lie he was now. It was nice enough having his half-brother on his side, but the idea of having someone who knew the truth and trusted him at his back—

It almost seemed like a dream, now, after the blood and war and death, of his camaraderie with the rest of the Seven on the _Argo II._

Fortunately, contrary to popular belief _(I swear to the gods, Percy, a toddler has more self-preservation_ _—)_ he was alright at looking after himself. Really.

* * *

"You do something stupid, Jackson, like fighting another hellhound, and I'm coming after you. Got it?"

"Counselor Luke sir, yes sir," Percy even fired a off a lazy salute for good measure, before cracking a grin in the face of an unimpressed look from the son of Hermes. "Really, what's the worse that could happen? It's hardly like I'm alone."

"That's what worries me," Luke muttered. Percy glanced at him suspiciously as he saw a flicker of. . . _something_ cross his face. Confirming his suspicions that he wasn't meant to hear it, Luke said louder, in a cheerier tone, "Just. . .a lot of hopes are writing on you, so kill some monsters for us, okay?"

_Oh, we're quoting now. Yay._

After some brief shuffling of the feet on both sides, and a last mumbled good-bye from Percy—years and several Deeds Of Crazy Shit Worthy of Apollo's Haikus, it never got any easier for him—he turned around to find himself face-to-face with Chiron, who had a very familiar pen in hand.

"I should have trained you better, Percy," The centaur said sadly. "If only I had more time. Heracles, Jason—they all got more training."

_Okay, now it's fucking disturbing. Someone do something different._

"It'll be fine, Chiron," Percy tried, before deciding to go for broke. "Is there anything you could give me to help?" _Subtle, I am **not.**_

"Oh course," He appeared surprised Percy cared to ask, before extending the pen to him. "Its name is Anaklusmos—"

"Riptide," The demigod breathed. _Come to Papa, you beautiful monster-killer, you._

"Yes," Chiron said, surprised, before letting it go as Percy internally beat himself up. "It has a long and tragic history, which I shall not go into now. It was a gift from your father, and I have kept it for many years, waiting for the right child," He finished, looking mournful. "Uncap it."

Percy did so with much anticipation, and was not disappointed when he was presented with a three-foot blade of glowing Celestial Bronze.

"Let me guess, emergencies only, slicing humans in half is a no-no?"

_Especially while they're blowing their noses._

Chiron choked. "That. . .is a rather succinct way of putting it, but yes."

"Not even Gabe?" he asked hopefully. Hope sprung eternal, after all.

"Sadly, your stepfather is most assuredly mortal," Chiron replied ruefully. "But be warned: you can be harmed by weapons made of the same metal as well as mortal weapons, as a demigod."

 _Because demigods apparently all collectively lost a bet with the Fates at some point._ At least, Percy couldn't think up a better explanation for it. Annabeth had just laughed at his guess before kissing him. In the Before, that is. Oh, another point: figure out way of separating past and present versions of everyone before he cracked, because it was getting ridiculous.

And with that—and after a far more exhaustive explanation of the Mist that he remembered from last time, seriously, ADHD was a bitch outside of battles—he received, along with his new-old partners in crime, the regular summer camp farewell from a regular centaur.

* * *

Argus had driven the trio about five miles before Grover called him on his staring, and general state of discomfort.

"You okay, Perce?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked defensively. Annabeth rolled her eyes.

"He's worried about the fact that you're staring at every landmark of the twenty-first century as if it were the Holy Grail. Honestly, it's just a McDonald's in the suburbs. You are a New Yorker, yes? You see these every day."

"Erm. . .it's just been a long week," Percy hazarded. _Or month. Same difference._ The daughter of Athena seemed to accept it with a humph, turning away to stare out her own window, but with a far more analytical stare than Percy could've managed on his best day. Grover, however, wasn't deterred.

"Man, are you sure? It's just. . .I can—I forgot to tell you that satyrs can read emotions. I don't mean to intrude—" Grover said panickedly.

"No, man, it's fine, I don't mind," Percy interrupted. "I like you're looking out for me."

Grover flushed, even as a shy smile crept across his face. "Well, then, it's just, I, I've just been picking up a ton of negative emotions almost in a feedback loop from you lately, and, well, you're my best friend. I worry."

Percy gave him a wane smile. "It's just. . .my mom. And my father, and Gabe, and all of it."

Grover made a sympathetic face, practically projecting guilt. "I'm so sorry, Percy, that I couldn't save your Mom."

"Hey, it's fine. You really couldn't do much, considering you were passed out and moaning about enchiladas."

"That's the point. I should have been able to _do_ something, not just be dead weight. I'm going to be looking for Pan, I'm better than that," Grover anguished.

"Look, it's cool, G-man," Percy reassured him. "You couldn't do anything about it. It's done. You'll get your license."

Grover gave Percy a sad, knowing look. "I know you agreed to do this to get your Mom back."

There was nothing but a sharp breath from Percy, as he stared evenly back at the satyr.

"I signed up for this knowing that," Grover continued. "And as long you don't challenge Hades to a duel for the death, then I'll do whatever I can to help you. Except the whole fighting-a-god-bit. I don't know enough songs to not get eviscerated by the Lord of the Dead."

It was then, as Percy gave an involuntary snicker, remembering _why_ Grover had been his best friend for so long, that Percy realized why he had felt discombobulated since leaving camp, as if he'd forgotten something.

Luke had never given him the winged shoes. Or any other potentially cursed item, for that matter.

"That's either veeery good or veeery bad," he muttered under his breath.

"I'd say veeery good," Grover said amusedly. Percy startled, before realizing

"Oh, no I was, um, thinking about. . ." Percy gave a vague wave of his hand, hoping to indicate something else.

"The prophecy?" Grover asked nervously, a flurry of emotion crossing his face.

"Yes!" Percy exclaimed a bit too loudly. Annabeth turned her head, giving him a suspicious look, while the blue eye on the back of Argus's neck focused on the black-haired demigod.

"Er, I mean, yes," he corrected himself, more quietly. "Just wondering how it'll play out."

"You shouldn't bother," Annabeth said softly, an inkling of worry entering her voice. "The more the ancient heroes tried to avert prophecies, the darker the interpretation that would come true. Besides, what did the Oracle tell you?"

"You shall go west, and face the god who has turned, you shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned," Percy dutifully recited. Grover and Annabeth brightened at this.

"C-Can't be that bad, then, Percy? We know it's going to be Hades, and what was stolen, after all." Grover practically exuded relief; Annabeth was the same, no doubt also thinking of the Great Prophecy and Thalia. Percy wished he could feel the same. When he had gone to the Oracle, it had more or less proceeded the same as last time, except she had insisted on making things creepier by calling him "Twice-Born".

There was also the small matter of a different prophecy.

_You shall go west, and face the god who has turned,_

_You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned_

Same as always. But then she had given the last two lines:

_But beware, for those of the fourth will the three-formed forsake  
_

_And by soul or by sacrifice, Time shall awake.  
_

In other words, they were pretty fucked.

* * *

Once they arrived at the parking lot, Argus had dropped them off, helping them with their bags, same as usual, and they had gotten on a bus after waiting in the rain, playing a game of Hacky Sack, same as last time. Annabeth was also amazingly good, same as last time, Percy remembered with a grin.

Then, the bus had arrived, and they boarded. And nothing happened. Which he would normally consider a win. Except for the small matter of the fact that the Furies should have shown up. When they had boarded the bus, and taken seat closer to the front of the bus—at Percy's own suggestion—he had carefully watched every passenger to board. But there had been no trio of old ladies, and even any senior citizens already on the bus.

it was a peaceful bus ride. Grover even fell asleep on Percy's shoulder. Annabeth read a book about classical architecture. Percy listened the rain beating against the metal roof and glass windows, and wished for something to blow up or spontaneously burst into flames.

Really, he wasn't going to be held responsible for his actions if something didn't go wrong or try to kill him, because Mrs. Dodds and friends _weren't there to try to kill him.  
_

It couldn't have been his time travel, because his twelve-year-old self had already killed Mrs. Dodds, which left some sort of other interference.

What would possibly happen in the Underworld—because last he checked, the God of the Superiority Complex had yet to declare war yet, and didn't that say something that he had no idea which one of them he was referring to—that Hades would keep the Furies there?

 _The only possible conclusions to be drawn from that,_ Percy decided as the bus continued on smoothly and Grover began to mutter about food into his shoulder, _was that I really, really don't want to know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: ... I guarantee whatever you're thinking about where this is going is wrong. 
> 
> Also, do you know how hard it is to get a prophecy to fucking rhyme and not spell out the ending? I spent half an hour on those two lines. And yes, I already have this entire arc planned out, so I know how it's going to end. *Evil author smirk*


	5. The Issues Begin To Make Themselves Known

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, character - monster - death.

_"There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them."  
_

- _Andre Gide  
_

* * *

They still didn't make it. Apparently, Manticores took umbrage at demigods using public transportation in the same state they did.

"Well," Percy remarked absently as he capped his sword, viewing the flaming wreckage that had once been a bus. "That was. . .different."

"Not really—there were monsters, and we stabbed them until they quit trying to kill us," Grover summarized as he rummaged through his bag for an umbrella that failed to materialize, before giving Percy a look. "And was the emergency break _really_ necessary, Perce?"

Percy shrugged sheepishly while Annabeth gave a melancholic smile. "Reminds me of the old days with Thalia and Luke."

The daughter of Athena then turned serious as a group of tourists began to point in their direction, pulling out phones and camera to take pictures of them—specifically, Percy, while a distant roar sounded off in the distance. _Lovely. They have friends._

"We need to get out of here," she said urgently, flicking wet hair out of her face. "We just proclaimed that there are demigods here to every monster in a five-mile radius."

Without a second thought, Percy, Grover, and Annabeth plunged into the woods, letting the darkness engulf them as they left the fire behind in the pouring rain. As they picked their way through the foliage, Percy did his best to stay in front to lead the way, desperately wishing he had a better memory of where they had crashed _last_ time; unfortunately, he had been a tad distracted by the screaming, fire, and fact that his math teacher had tried to kill him again.

But, they didn't lose their stuff this time.

He said as much to Grover, who shivered before answering. "Speak for yourself, man. I lost an entire bag of good tin cans back there when you caused us to crash."

"Really, what on earth possessed you to do that, Seaweed Brain?" Annabeth asked, picking her way over a mass of tree roots and mud. "I was doing fine without what you would apparently classify as _help._ "

"I was possessed by the horrific thought of a world without you on this quest," Percy answered dryly, even as he felt his heart begin to race at the memory of the terrifying moment. "As a result, I did the first thing I could to keep you from getting eaten."

Flashbacks to Dr. Thorne had not helped when he'd seen her struggling against Mrs. Dodds. _At fucking all.  
_

Annabeth, meanwhile, only bit her lip in response, her eyebrows pressed together in a way familiar to Percy even in the darkness and rain. At last, she said, "It's just. . .I appreciate you saving me, but if you had died, that would have been it for this quest and my only chance to be outside camp, probably."

"I mean," she added hastily when Grover gave her a suspicious look. "Dying would have been awful for you, obviously, but you're the leader, Percy. Without you, there _is_ no quest. I— _We_ would have to go back to camp. This quest may be my only chance to see the real world."

"You've never been outside Camp Half-Blood?" Percy asked, hoping he could get her to open up a bit. Hopefully, it would lessen the odds of her trying to kill him.

"It's not safe for us outside camp, Percy. When Grover, Thalia, Luke, and I made it there when I was seven, we were being pursued by the absolute _worst_ Hades could throw at us, after months of fighting off monsters," Annabeth recalled bitterly, her voice heavy with old anger. "Cyclopes, hellhounds. . .I had been fighting monsters since I was little, but it intensified the longer we were on our own. And then, when we were so close to getting there, Thalia, she—"

She shook her head helplessly, eyes glimmering with unshed tears Percy could see even in the increasing darkness, and looked to Grover to continue the story. Eventually, he managed to stutter out, "T-The Kindly Ones were chasing us with s-so many monsters—Thalia. . .s-sacrificed herself so that the rest of us could make it. Her father, Zeus, t-turned her into the pine tree on the barrier line."

Percy felt a rush of familiar empathy and sorrow for the pair of them. It never got easier to hear his friends grieve, and it really just sucked to have to restrain himself. "I can only say I'm sorry then."

In the dark, he could see the glint of her blonde hair shake. "You weren't there, Percy. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"But, you haven't left camp in five years, then?"

"Only for field trips. My dad—"

"The professor, right?"

"Yeah. It didn't really work out at home. . ."

From there, it was essentially quoting as Annabeth talked about why she had run away, and Grover's quest, and Percy only needed to hmm in the right places to keep Annabeth and Grover going; while he half-listened to his friends, he worked on a tentative plan in his head.

* * *

After another of mile of continued cursing and general dreadfulness in the rain, Percy smelled it first. The beautiful scent of greasy, will-kill-you-if-the-monsters-don't, glorious fast food. And once again, Percy realized that he hadn't eaten anything with a remote chance of upping his blood pressure since he had arrived on Half-Blood Hill.

Then he saw _it._ Placed between a tattered billboard and extremely run-down gas station, with neon cursive letters that still sometimes turned up in his dreams. Surrounded with extremely eclectic statuary with disturbing details, to say the least, and inside, one Gorgon sister.

 _One transformation into stone, free of charge!_ Percy couldn't help but think hysterically.

 _"Di Immortales. . ._ is that I think it is?" Annabeth groaned, oblivious to his thoughts.

"Smells like greasy cheeseburgers to me," Percy said quietly, hands resting on Riptide in his pocket.

"Maybe it's open?" she suggested, growing more excited by the minute as the thought of food. Meanwhile, Grover, like last time, grew apprehensive as they crossed the road.

"Hey, are you guys sure about this? This place. . .smells funny."

Annabeth ignored him, while Percy only said, his stomach twisting at the lie and implied insult, "I know you're a vegetarian, man, but you can just wait while we get something to eat."

 _I'm sorry, Grover,_ Percy pleaded in his head.

Meanwhile, Grover remained rightfully suspicious. "Are you crazy? It's not that, Percy, this place is _weird. . ."_

"It's just the meat," he reassured him with far more confidence than he felt. "You'll probably feel better after waiting away from the smell."

Grover shook his head, his face wary. "Percy, if I didn't know better, I'd swear I smelled monsters—"

"It's just the meat, Grover; really, what monster would live _there?"_ Annabeth waved her hand at the—admittedly, super ugly—building. "You're imagining things."

If anything, the satyr grew more freaked out as the normally suspicious daughter of Athena waved away his worries, now barely three yards away from the door. "I don't like this. Percy, what d'you think?"

The son of Poseidon didn't even think twice. "How about I take a look inside? If I'm not back out in, say, about five minutes—"

"We'll come in after you," Grover said firmly.

Percy looked at him in confusion. "Not really what I was thinking, Grover—"

"Jackson. You heard the satyr," Annabeth growled, before tacking on a second later in a plaintive tone, "Besides, I'm _hungry._ "

* * *

"Oh, you poor dear, are you by yourself?" At the soft, undefinable Middle Eastern accent, Percy whipped around, only to face a veiled figure dressed all in black.

"Er—yes, ma'am." Percy shifted from one foot to the other, one hand in a tight fist around Riptide; he could've sworn, as she clasped her hands together, he heard a faint hissing noise.

"But— _s_ urely you must have parents? A handsome boy like you, friends?"

"No one—I'm alone." Percy gave her his best angelic face, which apparently was a damn sight more effective when you were twelve than eighteen, considering "Aunty Em" only cooed over him some more, insistently pulling him to a table, her manicured nails digging into his skin.

"Here you wait, and I will get you some food, yes—and perhaps a camera, so that we can give your picture to the police and find your guardians?" she said thoughtfully.

Percy quickly widened his eyes. "Oh, I'm fine, believe me."

"Nonsense," she said firmly, a whisper of steel entering her voice. "You stay here."

Percy obediently remained in his chair, taking note of the location of the bathrooms in the process, a.k.a. Plan A: Surprise Attack. They were also the site of Plan B: Blow the Shitty Plumbing Up.

His hostess disappeared behind the counter, quickly bringing back a large malt shake, cheeseburger, and fries on a metal plate, before Percy could do more than chance more than a quick glance through the grimy window behind him; at the sight of the greasy food, Percy drooled, before mentally kicked himself. _Focus, Jackson._

The stuff was probably poisoned, Percy realized with a start, remembering how he and Annabeth had become so sleepy after just eating a few bites.

"I don't believe I caught your name, dear," "Aunty Em" asked, as she watched Percy pick at the fries. "Don't be afraid to eat, dear. I'm informed my food is the best on the East Coast."

The demigod looked up from his untouched plate. "You didn't. And I don't feel particularly hungry anymore."

"Well, then, it's only polite to introduce yourself to hostess."

Percy studied her suspiciously as she stood behind the rusty cash register, before shrugging. "I'm Percy."

Medusa froze. "Percy _. . .Jackson_?"

_Shit._

Out of the corner of his eye, Percy saw a black piece of fabric slide to the floor. He then heard snakes hiss.

He determinedly examined his greasy food, his hand in his pocket, as Medusa spoke in a soothing tone that made his hair stand on end. "Dear, could you please look at me?"

"Hmmm. . ." Percy began thoughtfully. "How about a _no_? My mother always told me not to look strange Gorgons who know my name in the eye."

Silence fell over the monster and the demigod, before Percy ducked down, sweeping his plate mostly clean to reveal the reflective metal of the plate, tilting it up in time to catch the distorted image of bronze talons and wrinkled hands.

"Who told you?!" he exclaimed as she growled.

"My master, the Lord of Time," she rasped as Percy swore viciously in Greek, the warm, soothing voice of Aunty Em long since gone, as she advanced. "He promised me my sisters back—in return, I only have to kill _you,_ little demigod. He knew you would be here."

She lunged forward, but Percy blindly lunged out, his sword hitting _something,_ before running away _—brave hero I am._ The angry, loud yell told him he'd only made her angry.

"Perseus!" she hollered. "Cease this foolishness. I have no wish to kill a child of my former lover—even one so determined to gain his father's love."

_Oh, I'd forgotten about that. Ew._

"This isn't for my father," Percy growled, eyes shut, one hand out as he cautiously reached out for a wall, before promptly almost giving himself a concussion as he hit a corner. "Ow."

The Gorgon only laughed. "Of course it is, honey. I've met demigods like you before."

"I doubt it," he called back."For starters, I'd bet I'm cooler than the rest of them."

_Got a more impressive track record, too._

"Don't flatter yourself," she purred. "So angry at the world, so determined to get a god to acknowledge that you exist. You are the same as all the rest, making yourself pathetic for validation that will not come, and a bloody death that most certainly will. Such a hard life. . .you'd be better off as a statue, dear. Less pain."

Suddenly, Percy heard the hissing return on his left side. He peeked at the plate, and sure enough, there she was, creeping towards him: _one butt-ugly head, coming up._

"You're still wrong," Percy declared. At the last possible second, as she lashed at his head, he lifted up the plate in front of him, only to find a blurry Medusa staring back. Renewed reflexes kicked in, and he dropped his impromptu mirror.

Medusa lost her head to another Perseus before it hit the ground.

"This is for my best friend's Uncle Ferdinand," he finished, wrinkling his nose as the snakes nipped at his ratty sneakers, before he quickly leapt over the counter, grabbing the discarded veil to cover the spoils of the fight.

Moments later, Annabeth and Grover threw the door open, only to stop dead at the sight that greeted them, their jaws dropping in unison.

"Perce, tell me that's not what I think it is. _Please._ "

"Do you want me to make you feel better or tell you the truth?"

"Is—Is that Medusa's head? Jackson, what did you _do?_ "

* * *

While Annabeth and Grover raided the vending machine in the back, Percy stared contemplatively at Medusa's head—or rather, the scarf that covered it. On one hand, if he dealt with it the same way as last time, he would almost certainly piss off Zeus yet _again._ On the other hand, he couldn't exactly go traipsing around the country with a head that could turn people to stone.

He also took a moment to let himself consider the matter of Smelly Gabe, and the lovely statue he would make.

_Oh, what the hell._

As the other two came back, Percy grabbed a Sharpie from behind the cash register, dashing off the same note, with perhaps a tad more verve than last time.

"Really, what's the worst they could do?" he muttered to Grover, who was watching him with rather horrified kind of fascination, while Annabeth muttered under her breath about "Idiotic Kelpheads".

"Send you to Tartarus?" the satyr suggested. _Riiight. And?  
_

Outwardly, Percy raised his eyebrows.

"For sending something to Olympus with best wishes? Clearly," he added, "I mean this in a good way, with the gods' best interests at heart, Grover. You can't just let Medusa's head lying around. This for the best."

Annabeth snorted derisively. "There is no good way here, Seaweed Brain. _That_ is Medusa's head," she said slowly, pointing at the package, before turning to poke him in the chest. _"You_ are a demigod who shouldn't have been born, and is believed to have committed treason. They'll think you're impertinent, at best."

"And by best, we mean, if he gets it _after_ the quest is over and is in a good mood and wants to kill you less," Grover chimed in.

"In other words, never. He'll just go ahead and zap the impertinent demigod," Annabeth finished.

Percy grinned. "I _am_ impertinent, Chase. It's one of my most attractive qualities."

"Yes, up there with 'has a death wish' and 'drools in his sleep,' " she responded sarcastically. "I can see why I followed you on this quest now."

Percy's smile widened at the banter, even as his expression inevitably gained an edge of melancholy at the familiar dialogue.

His Annabeth had called him impertinent as well, and Grover had always been there to back her up on it, just like now. But they _weren't_ the people he'd known, though his loyalty to them hadn't diminished—if anything, he felt more protective of them now than he ever had last had no idea what was coming, the suffering that Kronos had wrought—that Percy would fix if it killed him, regardless of timelines and identities.

But, the point still remained: He hadn't gone through literal hell for this daughter of Athena, or rescued Grover from marrying a Cyclops. They certainly hadn't held up the sky. So many moments that defined _them_ , gone, never to happen.

And if he had his way, they would never happen.

Percy grimaced, and went to look for the cash register as Annabeth and Grover continued to talk.

* * *

_"You failed me." That voice. Percy knew that voice, ancient, masculine, and heavy with power in its golden tone, as he looked around him; the demigod gasped as he recognized the room around him, and reached for a sword that wasn't there._

_The onyx marble, the cold damp air, and that ostentatious empty throne in the center of it all._

_He was in Mount Othrys._

_"I didn't fail you, my lord." At the new, younger_ — _ **mortal**_ _ **—** voice, Percy whipped around, only to see Luke, his scar dark against his pale skin. "The boy is strong, and skilled_ _—more skilled than I believed possible. He can handle himself; I will not be far behind, if necessary."  
_

_"Really?" Kronos asked, his voice coldly amused as it echoed. "I imagine he will be glad to hear that little ego boost. Won't you, Perseus?"  
_

_From behind the column hiding him from Luke, Percy involuntarily flinched._ _The son of Hermes choked._

_"Welcome to my home, grandchild. I look forward to seeing you soon."_

Percy jerked awake, chest heaving. _What the bloody fuck was that?_

Kronos was still in Tartarus, he knew, and Luke was at Camp Half-Blood—or at least he should be. As he failed to grasp at his memories of his rapidly fading dream, he attempted to remember what exactly Luke had said, all the while, his head pounding and his entire body in a cold sweat. Thankfully, Grover soon pierced the post-nightmare miasma, his voice cutting through the mental chaos.

"Perce, you okay?"

"I'm alright. Just —weird dreams."

Grover narrowed his eyes, but didn't press. "Want me to keep you awake for a bit?"

"Would you mind, just talking?" In Tartarus, Percy had found, along with Annabeth, that the times when there had been no monsters had almost been worse than the fighting, with the silence acting as pure torture, seeing as it was, well, _hell_.

Drawing each other out, reminding them of the mundane, kept them sane.

Grover nodded, even as his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Uh—what would you want me to talk about? I'm not exactly a good storyteller."

"Could you tell me about your job as a searcher?" Percy suggested, desperate to discuss something that wasn't quite so _gods-damned_ depressing.

The satyr happily acquiesced, quickly delving into his desire to find Pan, and the son of Poseidon soon drifted off the easy, familiar cadence of the tales about the Lord of the Wild, the scent of the could-have-been, rain water, and raspberries all around them.

* * *

"I. Do. Not. Care. I am not talking to a _pink poodle."_

Said pink poodle growled at Percy, who was currently contemplating the virtues of flipping it off. Grover, meanwhile, was worriedly explaining to him and an exasperated Annabeth just who Gladiola was—namely, their ticket west, considering, "she can get us all the way to Vegas, if we're lucky. Please, Percy, just give Gladiola the attention she's due."

Percy rolled his eyes as the dog growled at him, but said nothing else, opting instead to begin to clean camp as Annabeth and Grover went to get the reward money, his mind still stuck on the day before.

Just, no matter how many times he thought it over, nothing quite added up. The Manticores hadn't been much of a surprise, all things considered, but the _Furies. . .  
_

Percy had seen and done some crazy shit the past couple never-been years. But to this day, Mrs. Dodds still scared the shit out of him, more so than Tartarus. She and her sisters were not to be messed with, and were still some of the most powerful monsters had had ever encountered.

Also, anyone who called him 'honey' with claws that sharp was worthy of a healthy dose of terror. But that was besides the point.

There had been no divergence so far in the timeline that would keep her and her sisters from demanding Percy give up the helm or the bolt on the bus. As he doused the embers of the fire from last night, he also considered what Medusa had told him when they had fought. _My master, the Lord of Time. . .  
_

Somehow, Kronos had known exactly where Percy, Grover, and Annabeth were going to be, and sent the Gorgon to kill Percy. But had she been sent last time? It was in this moment, Percy couldn't help but get increasingly more frustrated with his twelve-year-old self, and his ignorance. It just all made no _sense._

Thankfully, it was as he spiraled into the mental pit of frustration that Annabeth and Grover came running, train tickets held high in the air.

"Where does the train get off?"

"First St. Louis, then Denver, Las Vegas, and then finally Los Angeles."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Grover exclaimed. "Transport that's not walking, a bus or airplane—I'm in."

"I'm with you on that one, G-man. Plus, I've wanted to visit Las Vegas." Percy commented with forced nonchalance.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Why would _you,_ Seaweed Brain, want to visit Sin City?"

"Reasons. Sorry, they're top secret, Chase. Can't tell you without having to kill you, and I don't doubt your ghost would come back to exact bloody revenge." At his flippancy, the blonde let it go as the trio began the walk to the Amtrak train station, and Percy let out his breath in a quiet _whoosh_.

_At this rate, she's going to put two and two together before my own mother._

Somehow, the son of Poseidon wasn't surprised at the idea.

* * *

Far from the son of Poseidon, in a place where time had no hold, a dark-haired child excitedly expounded to his sister upon the many virtues of Mythomagic.

"Obviously, Apollo is cool, but I really want to see what figurine of the Lord of the Dead would do—and you're not listening, are you?"

"Sorry, _caro_. Just thinking about a strange dream I had last night."

"That's not new, you've been having those since we got here, and you _still_ won't tell me what you dream about. Are you having nightmares?"

"No, no. At least, I don't think I am. I can never remember them. They're always these flashes of impossible things. Once, I dreamt of an entire herd of horses with feathered wings, and another of creatures similar to the dragon in that fantasy book of yours—"

" _The Hobbit."_

"But lately, they've centered around a single event. I think. . ."

"You think, what, Bianca?"

"I think, Nico, that you will get a chance to see Hades in action."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ughh... Medusa... I literally spent so long on that bit before going "Fuck this" and hitting the post button. This needed to happen for Plot and Character Reasons, but I still don't like this chapter. Good news is, the di Angelos are next chapter! Please let me know what you think on it!


	6. Hey, Cousin, Remember Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, battle in the first section.

_"The best way out is always through."_

_-Robert Frost_

* * *

_Sometimes,_ Percy decided, _the universe really just wants to see how many times it can try to kill me._

Echidna had attacked no one in St. Louis—though how much of that had been due to Percy avoiding the Arch, instead letting Grover drag them off to a rather pretty park, was a mystery.

She had instead chosen to make her appearance at their stop-off in Denver. Only, she hadn't brought Sonny with her this time.

 _Oh, no,_ Percy thought darkly, as he ducked behind a corner, klaxons blaring all around him as people ran away from him and the monster screaming, _We got an upgrade, lucky, lucky, people we are._

The Nemean Lion.

As a Golden Retriever with rabies. _Rabies._

Its name was _Leroy._

 _Leroy._ As in, the name of that uncle everyone was embarrassed to acknowledge at the family reunion, and would draw straws to see who had to make nice with him. Leroy the Nemean Lion, one of the tasks of Heracles— _yes, Annabeth, he knew some Greek myths, why do you have that look on your face_ —and son of Echidna, as well as brother to Sonny the Chimera, it would seem.

Apparently, it was a requirement that all legendary monsters had to have stupid names in order to kill the demigods while they were off-guard from laguther; that, or to ensure no one could boast about killing it without sounding like a moron.

_Hey Bob, guess what I just killed?_

_What, Frank?_

_I killed Leroy!_

Percy really hated his life sometimes.

"Percy!" Grover shrieked, distracting the demigod from his inner rant. "Lion, six o'clock!"

The son of Poseidon cursed and rolled to his side and around, old reflexes kicking in, as he faced the huge monster, its jaws slavering and claws gleaming as it advanced. _Where's the shitty space ice cream when you need it?_

Or the Hunters. Or any kind of help, really, Percy thought distantly as he desperately blocked Leroy's claws with his sword, as the lion swiped at him furiously. Finally, as it gave a mighty blow, Percy was forced to his knees on the cold marble floor of the station. Riptide was the only thing between him and becoming lunch meat.

As his twelve-year-old shoulders strained against the inexorable advance of the lion above him, its mouth slavering—ew, drool, gross—Annabeth and Grover futilely attempted to distract it, the daughter of Athena hurling debris at it and the satyr murdering One Direction. Unfortunately, while it made Leroy angrier, it didn't distract him. He just bore down harder as Percy fought to keep from falling over or dropping his sword. As Leroy pressed his paws down, he looked Percy in the eye and gaping him mouth, the monster's foot-long fangs hovered barely six-inches above his face.

Suddenly, Percy realized that was meant to be a _smile;_ it was an awful parody with far too many sharp things in it, and that was an unmistakably triumphant gleam in Leroy's eyes. Percy felt his hands continue to shake with effort, and his sweaty palms sliding along the grip of his sword, but none of that mattered he began to feel a familiar overwhelming surge of fury.

_I refuse to fucking die at the hands of a fucking oversized cat named_ **_Leroy._ **

Percy felt a familiar tugging in his gut, and he seized upon that, closing his eyes and focusing on that tug, working to make it more. The entire wall beside him and Leroy exploded, sending debris, water, and stuff Percy couldn't have been paid to have named over them in a giant tsunami.

In the wave, the son of Echidna was carried off of Percy, who remained dry in the impromptu explosion before Grover ran to help him to his feet, his curly hair dripping water down his face. Leroy, however, was only briefly fazed, landing on his feet, well, like a cat.

But as the golden lion advanced, Percy suddenly remembered: he _did_ have back-up. From a certain brother of his, in fact.

While there had been only the one formal practice in addition to his very limited previous experience, it had lasted two hours, mostly centered around how to hold it without killing yourself and a single move: a sharp thrust upwards.

The exact kind, in fact, that would come in handy right now.

Shame it'd probably blow his cover in front of Grover and Annabeth. But before, Percy had time to consider how badly he'd be screwed if he did—or just let his ADHD kick in—the lion suddenly froze, much to Percy's confusion, until a giant, glowing spear burst through his chest.

_What. The. Hades.  
_

The design, Percy noticed with a growing sense of dread, looked rather familiar, particularly considering the crackling, maliciously sharp spearhead. Specifically, it looked rather similar to a certain demigod's electric spear that he had recently broken.

"Grover," he muttered to the satyr beside him. "My spidey senses are tingling."

The owner of the spear then abruptly appeared not three feet behind the lion; unsettlingly, there was no flash, no sound. Just a sense of _wrong_ against Percy's senses as he came into being, stalking forward to the monster before ripping the spear out with wet sound before the lion exploded into dust, leaving behind no spoils this time.

"Ha!" the god of war exclaimed, hellfire dancing in his eye-sockets. "I missed this. Don't know why you punks constantly moan about it."

"Ares," Annabeth breathed, grey eyes wide.

Grover began to hyperventilate. Percy bit his tongue. Ares ignored the satyr and daughter of Athena, his flaming red eyes focused on Percy, a nasty smirk etched across his face. Percy was slammed with familiar emotions evoked by his presence, of bitterness, frustration, and outright _rage_ turning his vision red.

In another life, he would have fallen for the projection of anger from the war god, and immediately said something stupid to start things off.

Two wars, numerous fights, and countless losses had changed him, Percy reflected as he coolly stared his immortal cousin down.

Now, he would say probably something stupid thirty seconds in.

"So, you're old Seaweed's kid, huh?" Ares said with that same cruel smirk twisting his features.

Percy looked Ares in the eye. "So, you're Clarisse's old man, huh?"

_Yep, stupid._

The god of war only gave a nasty laugh as Percy gave him an unimpressed stare. "Right in one, punk. You two run into each other?"

"Hates my guts," Percy replied easily, trying to mask his relief at no mention of the spear. "Feeling's entirely mutual."

Ares only nodded, his eyes still fixed unsettlingly on Percy. "Don't really care—my kids' battles are theirs; Clarisse's rivalries are hers, not mine."

The _I'll only fight you if you piss me off_ went unsaid, but still rang loud and clear through the empty station, klaxons long since silent.

"What do you want, Lord Ares?" Annabeth ventured cautiously. The god of war laughed, turning his attention to her, while Percy resisted the urge to draw his sword and step in front of Annabeth protectively.

"Ooh, _respect_ —you're one of Owl Head's kids, aren't you?" he said mockingly. "None of you are any fun, and always so _sanctimonious._ Always, 'please, Lord Ares, give me aid' and 'Lord Ares, I respectfully request you stop the wild boar from killing everyone', and 'Lord Ares, I request with the utmost amount of respect that you please fuck off, if it please you'. Really, none of you say what you mean, and never act interesting at all. Daedalus was the most fun out of the lot of you, and _that's_ saying something."

Annabeth's face had steadily darkened through out his rant, particularly at the mention of her idol, and her voice was barely controlled as she spoke again. "Lord Ares, could you please explain—"

"What the hell I want?" Ares finished. Annabeth flushed and opened her mouth, but he quickly cut her off. "Relax, sweetheart, I know you were thinking it. Besides, I wanna help you out. After you solve an issue for me, of course."

"You. . .want to help _us?"_ Percy asked, his tone loaded with all the incredulity he could muster. He was going to say no, of course; in the mean time, he could hardly afford to have Clarisse's dad suspect something was up. That was a one-way ticket to Godly Suspicion City.

Ares scoffed. "That such a surprise? The rest of my _beloved_ family likes helping out you lot all the time, after all."

"You want a favor," Percy pointed out. "I'm not feeling too hot about that."

"I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself, Percy Jackson. Why don't you take the opportunity and the help? Or why don't you go hide in the ocean, so your big bad daddy can protect you?" Ares positively crooned the last question, the fire in his sockets almost blinding as he delivered the verbal blow; Percy could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, his hands clenched in fists and shaking with suppressed adrenaline. Beside him, Grover looked torn between passing out and hurling something at Ares.

Percy wanted to give Ares a wide grin, as nasty and smug as Ares's had been just a minute ago. The god of war was so sure he would piss the son of Poseidon off that way, through coxing out the requisite parental insecurities that came with being a demigod; in another timeline, it would have even worked.

This time, though, Percy had one advantage no Olympian could possibly negate: he was not a twelve-year-old determined to prove himself. He was eighteen—if only in his head—a war veteran twice over, and firmly secure in what he could do. He had no illusions about where he stood among his father's children, or any desire to catch the gods' attention with this quest.

He was a demigod with a job to do, and running errands for dicks like Ares was not part of it.

Fucking with the rulers of the universe and not getting blamed for it was just a bonus in the grand scheme of things, after all. _And what a sweet bonus it's gonna be._

Percy leaned back on his heels, and gazed up at Ares, pasting a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hmmm. . .yeah, gonna have to pass on that one. We're doing okay, and I'm not really sure we need your help. Besides, we have better things to do than inflate your ego."

Annabeth shoved her face in her hands with a groan, while Grover gave the familiar sigh of gods-my-friend-is-an-idiot-and-why-am-I-still-here.

"You mean the train that was ripped into pieces by one of Lady Hedgehog's bastards? Yeah, that'll get a long way, Jackson," Ares scoffed. "Tell you what: help me out with this small. . .problem of mine, and I'll keep your quest moving. Hell, I'll even keep it on the the same train line, same tickets."

Percy raised his eyebrows at the raise in accommodations from last time, but didn't respond as Ares pulled out a gleaming knife and began to clean his nails.

"Also," he added idly. "It's this, or you can owe me a favor for saving your asses. Thing is, I feel like calling it in right now and turning you three into cockroaches for refusing to do me this one small thing. But, of course, choice's yours, punk."

Percy almost growled in frustration. _Whatever I did, universe, I'm sorry. Just make it_ ** _stop_** _._

"Fine," he snapped. "We'll do your fu—"

Grover slapped his hands over Percy's mouth; Ares cackled. "Don't bother, satyr, I like this one. Got potential, if he can keep his mouth shut around his betters."

Percy gave him the fiercest glare he could muster, Grover's hand still preventing him from speaking.

Surprisingly, a brief, unidentifiable look crossed the god of war's face, before his cruelly drawn mouth stretched back into an arrogant smirk. "Cute, punk. Now go and fetch from the Tunnel of Love. My lady left something behind."

Let the record show Percy firmly blamed Leroy.

* * *

Two hours and a shit-ton of mechanical spiders later, Percy, Annabeth, and Grover were on an admittedly nice train to Las Vegas, then Los Angeles, the backpack Ares had handed off on them possessing a familiar weight that left Percy wanting to test the limits of his vocabulary.

Annabeth and Grover had long since fallen asleep, but Percy was still alert, if feeling a little drained—out of a fear of dreaming as much as paranoia, he supposed. Since coming back in time, he'd been having dreams that alternated between being a twelve on the weird scale, and nightmares that made Gaia look like a fluffy bunny. Once had been more than enough, but re-living again and again the deaths of his mom, Annabeth, Grover, Nico. . .

Gods, _Nico._

At the thought of the son of Hades, Percy sighed, letting his forehead fall against the cold window with a soft _thunk._

Seeing everyone at Camp so much younger had been bad, but Nico? If Percy remembered correctly, he'd barely be ten; still the overly cheery, naïve, Mythomagic fan, _(He hadn't seen him smile in so long_ _—)_ and not the overly-broody teenager who had styled himself as 'The Ghost King'.

And that was _without_ Bianca in the picture, who he had barely gotten a chance to know before her death fighting Talos, and who had influenced her brother's fate so much even after death. It went without saying that she wasn't dying for a long, long time, even if she still remained with the Hunters this time.

Unfortunately, in addition to the di Angelos, there was the small matter of two stupid prophecies instead of one. And the fact that according to Annabeth, three had a lot of connotations in Greek mythology: three sons and three daughters of Kronos, three realms ruled by Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades, the tripod, and a bunch of other stuff he didn't remember. _(ADHD was a thing, okay?)_

Also, apparently, gods liked the number too. Cerberus, the Fates, and a bunch of other gods who Percy probably shouldn't piss off, but probably had just by existing. And then there was the possibility of a symbolic significance, which pretty much screwed Percy over, then, because, hello, _prophecy._ Damn things never go down the way you think they will.

Four, not so much. Apparently, Helios's chariot, before he had faded, had four horses _(So. . .no)_ , and they were currently in the Fourth Age of civilization _(Which. . .shit)._

And then there was that soul and sacrifice stuff, which he wasn't letting anyone within a mile of. Or ten.

He had no intention of breaking that promise he gave Nico this time, even if he had yet to give it to either of the children of Hades; need be—and knowing his luck, there would—he would protect the di Angelos to the death.

_("Hah, Death Breath, see the pun there_ _—" "Shut up, Seaweed Brain.")_

* * *

Percy had forgotten just how _shiny_ the Lotus Casino was.

He, Grover, and Annabeth were enthusiastically ushered in by a perky bellhop in a Hawaiian t-shirt, and LotusCash cards were eagerly pressed into their hands once again despite the fact that they probably didn't look too far off from homeless people. As they were escorted through the lobby at whirlwind speed, Percy struggled to keep his mind from wandering off in the direction of the shiny water slide, virtual reality suits, or the food that smelled criminally good. Thankfully, there weren't that many kids—or adults, for that matter—in the lobby, making it all the easier to try and find Bianca and Nico.

". . .so if you need anything, call the front desk, and we'll hook you up. If you like, you can ask for me. Name's Joe, and I, along with everyone else here, hope you enjoy your stay at the Lotus Casino!" Joe the bellhop finished brightly, clearly expecting plenty of questions.

He needn't have, though, considering Grover and Annabeth were already leading the way to the elevator, any suspicions quickly dissipating in their minds at the prospect of finally staying somewhere that wasn't a slightly dodgy train or the middle of nowhere in New Jersey.

With a last wary glance at the oblivious bellhop, Percy followed his friends to their rooms, as luxurious as last time, if not more so. In fact, Percy realized sourly, the technology looked very similar to what he had seen in 2010, five years in the future/past—in the Before, which was not getting any easier to classify.

But, with three rooms, each equipped with a full bathroom, probably the most important thing on any of their minds, Percy was quickly left alone in the middle of the suite with Ares's backpack still slung over his shoulder.

He let loose a sigh a minute later when it became clear Grover and Annabeth weren't re-emerging any time soon, and dug his notebook—which had been filled out more and more as Percy sifted through his memories for anything useful—out of his pocket, ripping out a page and using Riptide to leave a note on the coffee table in the connecting lounge for himself after taking a shower and finding actual food.

_IT'S A TRAP_ _—REMEMBER TIME. FIND THEM._

It turned out to be rather redundant, though, as Percy could hardly focus on anything else in the shower, water already primed to his preferred temperature, and after downing two blue Cokes and inhaling a suspiciously grease-free burger, grimy clothes probably incinerated by then, he was on the lobby stalking the bellhop who had initially welcomed them, figuring he'd be the best option.

After hunting his way through several retro-style arcade games—including one that looked like it was being played by Disco Darren, if Percy wasn't mistaken—and arguing his way through a bunch of really pissy sharpshooter fanatics, he found Joe arbitrating a debate The two groups in question, if Percy didn't know better, looked just regular D&D fans from one of his high schools.

"Now, if we can just all calm down, I know the perfect solution. Our platinum floor just opened up, and what d'y'know, we have—"

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" Percy interrupted brusquely. The bellhop, who couldn't have been much older than mid-twenties, flipped his brown hair out of his eyes, and after giving Percy a once-over, walked over, his face a study in sympathetic concern.

"Hey there, you enjoying your stay? Anything you or your friends need? You know, you seem a little tense, if you like, I can point you the way of—"

"Yeah, no I'm alright," Percy said quickly, before another bright and shiny could distract him from his mission. "I was just wondering—you see, two friends of mine got separated from me. They're younger than me, and I've just been a little worried, and was wondering if you could point me in their direction."

"Of course!" Joe said brightly. "I know just about everyone here. Who're your friends?"

"Bianca and Nico di Angelo." Percy was pretty sure his voice didn't shake.

Joe's smile then somehow managed to widen, and he pointed off at a point somewhere beyond Percy's left shoulder. Percy turned in the direction pointed, towards what looked like the movie-set of one of those old movies with Cary Grant his mom loved, but then he hesitated as he looked back at Joe, who just stood there looking very nice, very unsuspecting, and v _ery_ mortal.

Joe had seemed normal enough, Percy considered, maybe, if—

"You need anything else?" Joe asked, giving Percy a bright smile with too many white teeth in it, eyes gleaming.

Percy decided to take his victories where he could find them, and made a quick tactical retreat in the probable direction of Nico and Bianca.

_Hopefully, this will be quick. How many forties people could've been sucked into this anyway?_

* * *

As it turned out, quite a few, much to Percy's shock and annoyance.

Interestingly, as Percy worked his way through the barely lit area, cigarette smoke and old-timey perfume permeating the air, he noticed that the games engrossing everyone turned out to be very eclectic compared to everyone else.

For every person on Pac-Man or Pong, there was someone fighting their friends on Call of Duty, or single-mindedly attempting to rescue Princess Peach; above all else, though, there was the most impressive collection of board games Percy had ever seen. There had been about a dozen varieties of Clue, Monopoly, Scrabble, and more.

Even, he realized with a pang, one or two Mythomagic games were in progress.

"Oof!"

Percy took a step back in alarm as a human projectile hit his chest, and the two wiped out on the floor. Percy scrambled to his feet, and reached out a hand to help the person who ran into him up.

Percy's planned apologies died on his lips as he saw who took his hand, looking up at Percy curiously through dark, curly hair.

"Oh, I'm so, so sorry," Nico di Angelo babbled, still half on the floor, oblivious to Percy mentally blue-screening. "My sister's always telling me I should be more careful, but someone said they had finally found a Hades figurine for my Mythomagic game, and I—"

"Nico!"

Bianca di Angelo came running, her green cap from another life replaced by a large headband, her dark hair in some kind of half-up braided style. She pulled her brother up, dusting him off with all the care of a mother hen, before turning to Percy.

"I'm sorry about Nico. He tends to act without thinking sometimes—oh, and I've been rude," she exclaimed, grey eyes wide. "Bianca di Angelo, and this is my brother, Nico. I'm so sorry he ran into you."

A second later, Percy realized he was meant to shake Bianca's proffered hand.

"Percy Jackson," he finally managed. "It's no problem. I was looking for the two of you anyway. It's about your father, you have to leave with me."

Bianca's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What? Why do we—and who are you? Did something happen?"

Then, what Percy had been a big enough of a dumbass to say caught up with him, and he raised his hands, saying hurriedly, "Nothing bad, I swear, it's just—you need to get out of here. It-It's not safe, Bianca."

"Not safe?" she said incredulously as Nico asked at the same time, "What are you _talking_ about?"

"When's the last time either of you left here?" Percy asked quietly, quickly changing tacks. "Do you remember anything outside of here—do you even know the _year?_ "

"Of course, it's 1945, what are you. . ." Bianca was indignant, before her voice trailed off into a whisper, and she looked at Percy with something uncomfortably close to awe, her stare sharpening.

"The dreams. It's you, isn't it?"

"What dreams?" Percy asked in confusion.

Bianca shifted, eyes glancing to the side. "I-I don't like to talk abou—"

"She's been having nightmares," Nico interrupted nervously. "About weird things, like _dragons_ , and winged horses. But, that can't be true, right?"

_Demigod dreams. Shit._

Percy only said, "You'd be surprised, Nico."

Meanwhile, Bianca bit her lip as she clutched Nico's shoulder, eyes far away, before she focused them on Percy with an uncomfortable intensity. "You said something about. . .leaving?"

The son of Poseidon nodded, relieved to be explaining. "This place, it's a trap. You're never meant to leave, and just keep playing games forever. Outside, it's far—later, then when you, both of you, entered," he finished lamely. "By a lot."

"A trap?" Bianca whispered softly, eyes wide. "F-For _us?"_

"What you mean, time travel?" Nico asked. "Like the Traveller and the Morlocks?"

Percy frowned. "What's a Morlock?"

Nico looked at Percy in genuine worry and horror—or at least, what Percy suspected Nico considered to be genuine worry and horror. To him, it just looked like Nico opened his mouth, no doubt to explain just what a Morlock was, when Bianca interceded in the rapidly derailing conversation.

"Not to be boring, but didn't you mention something about how we're in a trap?" Bianca interrupted, her shoulders tense and hunched in, her demeanor much close to the girl Percy had originally met. "And how this isn't, somehow, nineteen forty-five?"

"I know it sounds absolutely insane," Percy said, "But I promise, it's all

The last time the children of Hades had been informed of the year, they hadn't taken it well, to say the least. Percy would tell them the specifics once they were outside, and he had Annabeth to out-logic any objections.

In the meantime, however, he had two inquisitive children of Hades to get out of the casino. Luckily, both seemed willing to believe him for some reason.

"So, you're rescuing us, like a hero?" Nico asked excitedly.

"Sort of," Percy muttered embarrassedly. "Not really that heroic."

"I beg to differ, Percy," Bianca corrected softly, a more muted version of her brother's excitement shining in her eyes. "You are taking us out of this trap, no? I would call you a hero."

"See," Nico chimed in stubbornly, like the little shit of a cousin he was. "Hero."

The son of Poseidon flushed as he led his cousins into the main lobby.

* * *

"Annabeth!" Percy hollered, attempting to make himself over the pounding music. At first, the daughter of Athena was oblivious, her eyes fixed on towers rising in the virtual simulation allowing her to play architect. "Annabeth, listen, we need to—"

"Not now, Percy."

"Annabeth, the casino, we need to leave it _yesterday_ —"

"Jackson, I'm in the middle of—"

"It doesn't matter, this entire place is a trap, we have to go—"

" _Agh!_ Get _off,_ Percy!"

"Annabeth, listen, spiders—"

Annabeth, much to Percy's shock, attempted to hit him; he was so surprised she let him. It was a glancing blow off his chest, but it was like a bucket of cold water.

Oddly enough, Nico then chose to step in.

"Listen, Percy told us we need to get out, something about the place being run by monsters?"

Something resembling comprehension began to enter her eyes, and Percy quickly chimed in. "Annabeth, remember the spiders. Large, hairy spiders—"

This time, she hit him a lot harder. There was no damage—though he was probably going to have a nice bruise on his shoulder later—and this time, Annabeth took a staggering step away from the game, before turning to Percy, stormy grey eyes wide with shock.

"Percy, what—"

"The casino's a trap, Annabeth," Percy said hurriedly. "This is Bianca and Nico, who've been here since the forties, Annabeth. _The forties._ People don't come out of here. The place is a trap."

The daughter of Athena nodded dazedly, thankfully not questioning how he had found the di Angelos as the quartet began to look for Grover.

"By the way, I meant to ask you about the note you left, but then I found this wonderful program—"

"We need to get out, Annabeth."

"Right."

* * *

As soon as they had forcibly dragged Grover away from killing rednecks as a deer, Percy wasted no time in getting the lot of them outside, though it wound up getting rather violent with Joe the Whatever The Tartarus He Was. After some improvisation, explosions that left everyone not named Percy soaked, and making their escape back to the mortal world, he wasted no time in finding a newspaper, hoping against hope that—

"Shit!" Percy swore. Annabeth and Grover weren't far behind as they grabbed their own copies. Bianca and Nico, meanwhile, both had their jaws on the ground as they stared up around them at the bright cityscape around them, dazzled.

"The. . .future?" escaped Bianca in a breathy whisper. Nico, meanwhile, had a giant grin fighting its way across his face.

"This. Is. So. _Cool!"_

Percy smiled at the untainted joy present in the siblings even as the strange feeling of familial protectiveness settled back onto him, until Grover walked over the two quietly discussed their next move while Annabeth, presumably, hailed a cab to take them across the Mojave.

"Perce, it's only been two days, it's still—"

"Yeah, that's still two days we don't have anymore. The Summer Solstice is what, four days away?" Percy asked.

"It could've been worse."

Percy gave him a wry smile. "What, like one day?"

"Exactly. But what about them, Percy?" Grover pointed at the di Angelos. "I'm not stupid. Those two smell. . .well, nearly as strong as _you_ , and you're a year older than Bianca; no way you 'stumbled' across them."

"It's. . .complicated."

_"Percy_ _—"_

"Complicated, Grover," Percy cut off. As the satyr gave him the I-have-an-empathic-link-and-can-smell-the-bullshit-look, he only sighed. "Look, I really can't tell you how I found them. They, sort of, just, ran into me."

Grover sighed. "Fine, man. If that's the way you want to do it, fine. Tell when you're ready, though, please?"

"You got it, G-Man." Percy said with a grin that was only mostly forced.

Grover stared at him for a minute longer, before following Annabeth as she strode off to hail a cab.

"So, are we going to Olympus, then?" Nico asked excitedly, still starry-eyed at the towering skyscrapers and city lights.

Percy winced. "Eh, no. Los Angeles."

Nico's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Aren't you on a quest, though?"

"Yeah, but we have to go to somewhere in LA first—DOA Studios, before we can go back to Olympus."

"We don't have money, though," Bianca said nervously. "Just the cards. You don't expect those to work, do you?"

"They're magical casino cards," Percy drawled. "Any reason _not_ to?"

"Wait, magical?" Nico piped up delightedly.

"Surprise, kid," Percy said warily. "Magic _and_ Greek mythology is real. Especially the monsters."

But even that couldn't dampen his enthusiasm as Nico almost bounced off the ground, while Bianca attempted to keep him from attracting too much attention; in the process, she gave Percy a _look_ that reminded him rather disturbingly of his mom. Like she could see though his nonsense in a second. Nico had once given him the same look before; it must've been hereditary. _And I'm going to quit going down that mental path before I end up needing brain bleach._

"Where are we going?" Nico asked nervously, watching with his sister and Percy as Annabeth and Grover wrangled a ride with the driver, who had turned pale, and now seemed to be kowtowing to the two after testing one of the LotusCash cards.

"We're going to see your father," Percy whispered, even as his eyes darted around him, checking for anyone other than Bianca who was listening.

He rather doubted Hades _wouldn't_ out just who they were, but in the mean time, it would do them no favors for someone else to know until everything could get straightened out, and the prophecy ran its course. _  
_

"Our father? He's a god, like yours? A good guy?"

Percy thought it over briefly before answering the younger di Angelo. "Sure. He's a god, and hasn't tried to kill us."

Technically, it was true. Which, quite frankly, was the best they were going to get right now.

Oblivious, Nico whooped. "That means we have powers, like when you exploded the water slide on Joe!"

"Something like that," Percy agreed, his lips quirked in a small, melancholic smile. He'd missed this Nico, also on the verge of dancing for joy at something new. At least, before war and Tartarus had done its damnedest to kill the child in the son of Hades. It was good to see him again.

Freakin' time travel had to be good for something, he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I head-canon Nico as a giant precocious nerd; for those who don't know, a Morlock is a member of a species that acts as the antagonists in H.G. Wells's The Time Machine.
> 
> Also, my deepest apologies to people named Leroy, I don't mean anything by my riff on the name.


	7. No One Knows What It's Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, mild torture/blood in the third section.

_"No one cares how much you know, until they know how much you care."_

_-Theodore Roosevelt  
_

* * *

Hades tried not to think about her too much.

For one, he loved Persephone with a genuine passion, even millennia later; she was his wife, and he had once been prepared to defy Olympus to have the slightest chance of loving her as a man, instead of a monster. That steady real feeling between the two of them would never change, regardless of the lovers either of them took over the millennia of their existence.

For another, to think on her. . .hurt. Far more than it should, for a god.

He was the eldest son of Kronos, ruler of the lands of the dead, one of the most powerful beings in the universe. He was immortal, _meant_ to be untouchable, utterly implacable.

The death of a mortal woman was meant to be barely a blip on his radar, much less another crack in his soul.

_But if you're so all-powerful, then why so afraid to think her **name** **?**_

At this accusation from a voice with a belligerence suspiciously similar to his mother-in-law, Hades gave a minute wince as he sat on his throne, listening to yet another report of unrest from the Fields of Punishment. As the spirit of Nathaniel Hale paused, he gave a lazy wave to encourage the dead son of Nemesis on and attempted to discard thoughts on— _h_ _er._

The god may have rarely left his palace since the Second World War, but he was no fool; whispers of monsters clawing themselves out of Tartarus, of spirits and the occasional minor god disappearing merited his full attention. The last time his domain had been this restive _. . .well._

Ten years of literal rebellion and upheaval against your parents tended to leave some vivid memories and impressions.

Hale continued, detailing how the _Daemones_ had been encroaching outside their normal residence near Melinoë's cave, and gradually making their way towards the Fields of Asphodel. Most disconcertingly, it appeared to be an organized effort, with a firm strategy in place, one they were not— _should not be_ —capable of executing, not without a guiding hand. To add to it all, Hades had yet to see Alecto report in since she and her sisters had gone to investigate Hecate's disappearance a week ago.

He had no issue with making a statement himself in his realm, but with his usual enforcers disappeared or already taking on other tasks, it would leave his palace a little vulnerable; for once, he could not help but be grateful that Persephone was on the surface, safely away and ignorant of everything happening in his realm.

Something was changing, breaking the surprisingly fragile balance Hades presided over, tipping it in the direction of something that he did not like. Moreover, it was something that if he did not quell soon, would be forced to tell his insufferable younger brothers about. It was something he may be forced to make a statement for.

Or possibly _someone,_ whispered a traitorous corner of his mind, one that still sang of clinging darkness, dancing through death, and shadows that still made him and his siblings flinch.

 _But that would be impossible,_ Hades thought fiercely, oblivious to the ghost in front of him. He would _know_ if, if F—

Or would he?

"That will be all, Nathaniel," Hades dismissed, his suspicions solidifying at a worrying rate.

As the ghost scurried out of the room, the god began to mull the idea of leaving his palace once more; the Summer Solstice was rapidly approaching, and on the off chance his brothers actually did not declare war on each other over their mutual idiocy and bad judgment, he would need all available information at hand to finally force his family to _listen_ —

But before he could fully contemplate, he felt—

He _felt_ —

_A warm smile, curling dark hair, gentle whispers in a lilting foreign tongue, that familiar **ache**_ _**—** _

But how, it was them, but _how_ —

_The taste of electricity on the tongue. Shattered pearls decorating the ground.  
_

Why does it hurt, _itshouldn'thurt **why**_ —

_The never-ending wail of grief.  
_

**_Emptiness._ **

He felt _them._

Their presence touched upon his senses for the first time decades, and he impossibly gasped for breath.

In his realm, along with Athena and Poseidon's brats, and the satyr responsible for guarding Zeus's last indiscretion—What was her name? Tiana? Tara? No, it was _Thalia_ —with his helm in their possession. But that was not what made the god close his eyes, emotion he'd thought long gone resurgent.

His children, unprotected.

And so _young,_ still. He'd forgotten.

His knuckles were colorless against his obsidian throne. It wasn't time. The prophecy was in still effect, and they couldn't know, he would not allow it—

He could not afford for outside interference, or for some sea brat to destroy his plans, as he was so perilously close to doing so already by _existing_.

But, he could do nothing at that moment. The Laws, he remembered with a cold fury rising within him, expressly forbid it. And, for all his flaws, Poseidon had always been rather sensitive where the matter of his children were concerned. Odysseus's journeys and the particular reason behind them still made popular tales when he and Amphitrite fought every other decade or so.

Hades could not directly affect Poseidon's latest bastard. He was mortal, and had not directly infringed upon his domain. _Yet._

Whether the thief would acknowledge the symbol of power in his possession was another matter, and may change the whole battle altogether.

The Lord of the Underworld steepled his fingers together, and waited in d dead silence for the quest and his children to arrive in his throne room.

"Perseus Jackson," Hades at last said smoothly, his tone barely trembling with restrained emotion and madness, with a curl of his lip directed at Poseidon's bastard. "What brings you to the Underworld?"

* * *

"Oh, you know, bit of this, bit of that," Percy replied lightly to the god's inquiry, mind whirling. "We were in the neighborhood, and I realized that we had something of yours to return."

Grover and Annabeth side-eyed him with no small measure of panic, but he didn't acknowledge either— _couldn't_ afford to acknowledge either. Not with the stakes at hand. Not with his _mom_ at stake.

Bianca, meanwhile, was studying Hades intently, while Nico was busy looking around him, eyes wide with wonder. He'd nearly fainted with joy at the sight of Cerberus, declaring him "the most awesome pet ever," much to Percy's mild horror and Bianca's consternation.

Thankfully, the three-headed dog had happily gave way to the di Angelos after they had crossed the Styx thanks to a begrudging Charon. Percy knew that as soon as they arrived in Los Angeles they would have little time before Hades descended on them and summarily eviscerated him for looking at his kids funny, so he had been forced to. . .improvise, a little.

He really didn't want to think about it too hard. What was left of his pride was still reeling.

But after seeing Nico's reaction to Cerberus—backed up by a dog-loving Annabeth, no less—Percy was starting to wonder if all demigods were inherently a little crazy _("Pot, meet kettle." "Like you can talk, Pinecone Face.")_. The three-headed dog had let them by, confused as to what to do with living people who weren't peeing their pants at the sight of him, much less with demigods that were offering to play with him and smelled like his master.

"Oh, really now," Hades sneered, oblivious to the demigod's thoughts. "Did you think so highly of yourself as to attempt a paltry trade like that, then?"

"I want my mom back—I'll give you what you want. Just let her go," Percy implored. "The last thing needed is war between the gods. That would—that would be bad."

"Verily," Bianca commented drily. The son of Poseidon glanced at her briefly, fighting a small smile; while traveling from Las Vegas, she had been constantly pelting him and Annabeth with questions about Greek myths, Camp Half-Blood, everything—including, once Annabeth finally fell asleep, some general advice he remembered from Before. Not that she was aware of the time-traveling aspect. But by the time Los Angeles had begun to appear on the horizon, Percy had been convinced she had known more about their world than _he_ did.

Which wouldn't be saying much when compared to someone who couldn't sit still in school for more than half a second, but _still._ She knew what she was taking her brother into, with the Underworld.

None of it though, explained how weird Hades was acting.

"Perseus Jackson, you insult me and mine," Hades murmured silkily, his eyes almost glowing. "You strut into my realm, take my children and my helm, and then presume to _negotiate?_ I understood you to be your father's child, but this goes beyond even his arrogance. So much as _touch_ my children, and you will beg for the Fields of Punishment and the sting of Alecto's whip."

 _What the fucking fuck._ Percy couldn't quite recall Hades—or any other god, for that matter—ever bothering to get _quite_ that creative with the threats, much less where their kids were concerned. Normally, it was just, "Get my magical MacGuffin or I'll incinerate you" this, or "I'll turn you into a small woodland animal if you don't do what I want" that.

_Unless. . .oh. That's not good._

He suddenly realized, with a sinking feeling, that the two of them had been having very different conversations; if the god was crazy enough to think Percy would even think about using Nico or Bianca like that, then this conversation was already screwed before Percy had opened his mouth.

And it was at that moment, because the universe loathed his stubborn insistence on not dying that Annabeth decided to put in her thought, with a gasp, " _Your_ children? But the oath, I thought _Percy_ was. . ."

She turned to Bianca and Nico; when neither reacted—or, in Nico's case, only gave a nonchalant shrug—the daughter of Athena whipped her head back around to Percy, her eyes accusing and dark with anger. Beside her, Grover just stared at him as if Percy had spontaneously grown gills. _("I don't know, Perce, it could hap_ _—" "Bite me, Lightning Boy.")_

"You knew," she growled, anger and hurt written across her body.

Percy looked at her defiantly. "I did."

"Why didn't you say something, then?" Annabeth demanded. "Jackson, they're children of _Hades,_ they're dangerous—"

But as Annabeth spoke, the world dissipated before Percy's eyes in a grey mist and reforming into another location before he could do much more than let out a manly yelp. As everything re-solidified around him, the demigod bent over, his head spinning. _Fucking hate it when they do that._

It was comforting to know that some things never changed, but did gods teleporting people willy-nilly have to one of them?

Beside him, thankfully, were Bianca and Nico, as they also keeled over, faces tinged green. As Percy breathed in and out, he absentmindedly noticed the glittering dirt three feet from his face, and as he righted himself, saw the signature bejeweled roses, hydrangeas, and daffodils of Persephone's garden.

"My apologies," Hades said mildly from behind him. "I thought this conversation would be better completed. . .away from your little friends."

The god bent over to inspect a ruby rose before turning to face the demigod, his face blank, presenting a benign image that only served to set Percy further on edge as he stood back up, only to find the pack from Ares was nowhere to be found. _γαμώ._

But the issue of the pack was quickly thrust the back of Percy's mind as he took in his uncle. There was no hiding the aura of power emanating from him—or the hint of sheer, undiluted _rage_ burning in the god's eyes.

"My friends are as much a part of this quest as I am," Percy responded lowly. "I just want my mother back, and to return your shiny hat to prevent a little thing called World War Three. You know, the usual family quarrels. Last I checked, they qualify as part of this."

"Oh, but this is personal," Hades crooned. "You put my children in danger, and now care to try to involve them in your follies. How can I but oblige you?"

As Percy subconsciously tried to angle himself in front of a pale Bianca and a wide-eyed Nico, it occurred to him that he _might_ have not quite thought this completely through.

 _But would you **really** change anything, idiot? _ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Triton muttered in the back of his mind.

 _No,_ he mentally retorted, ignoring the fact he was essentially arguing with himself. There was something not adding up about the past couple days, something he couldn't put his finger on, and it had him. . .twitchy. _("Oh, that's too easy, Percy_ _—")_

The lack of Mrs. Dodds, Medusa expecting him, _Luke_ , all of it. He just couldn't quite pinpoint what had been the factor, and it worried him. Besides, he owed it to the Nico he had known from the Before to not utterly fuck up his life. Really, Percy had done the right things.

Except maybe the whole just-drop-the-di-Angelos-on-their-dad-without-warning-thing.

That had been bad.

"Now," Hades continued, giving Percy a smile with too many teeth in it. " _Shall we begin?"_

* * *

Nico didn't know what to think.

On one hand, it was _his father_ in front of him. His mother—for all the scraps of memories he had about her—had loved him, enough to have him and Bianca with the man in front of them. _He_ had to be alright, didn't he? Not the angry man— _god,_ which, wow. Pretty cool—in front of him, threatening Percy, almost seeming to glow with _. . .something._ Godly power, if Nico had to guess.

"Yes, let's," Percy snapped, his face taut. "First, you give me my mom back."

"First, you continue to keep up the pretense," Hades mocked. "Do not lie to me, boy. I know Poseidon's scheme; he hid you away, thinking to have you as his little secret. On the Winter Solstice, he directed you the throne room, and had you take the Helm of Darkness along with the Master Bolt. Had I not sent Alecto after you to your Yancy Academy, my brother might have succeeded; now, you have been forced into the light, and desperate, you attempt to manipulate me. But you have been exposed, and I will have my helm returned to me!"

"How would I have known about Bianca and Nico in the first place?" Percy argued exasperatedly. "I'm twelve, Uncle, and didn't know I was a demigod until two weeks ago. Besides, if you want your helm, you can have it. I don't want it, and I didn't steal it."

Weirdly, Nico noticed, he seemed to have been trying not to laugh as he informed Hades of his age. Said god, however, snarled. "Oh? If not you, then who, Perseus Jackson? Tell me."

Percy shook his head. "I don't know."

But he had paused before speaking—far too long. Hades reached out his open hand to the confused demigod, before he began to slowly close it. For a moment, Percy remained bemused, but it quickly disappeared, and he keeled over, his hands flying to his throat as he began to cough, eye bulging.

Hades was choking him, Nico then realized with no small amount of fear and dread. And didn't look like he was about to stop.

Percy was dying.

**_"Tell me, Perseus Jackson."_ **

The god's voice wasn't human, his words spoken in a dual tone that made the hairs on the back of Nico's neck stand on end. Some primal instinct in his mind was telling him to run far, far, away and hide.

One glance at Bianca's face, her features frozen in the terror Nico felt only served to increase his panic; only, she looked to him knowingly, like she expected _him_ to be able to do something!

But Nico looked at Percy again, now prostrate on the ground, and steeled himself, as if he were Heracles or Theseus, or any god he had ever played in Mythomagic. He had to at least try to convince his father to see reason.

Nico couldn't watch Percy, who'd been cool and funny and _nice_ to him, had saved him and Bianca from Joe the Bellhop, _die._

"Lord Hades. . ." Nico's voice came out in a strangled whisper; Hades paid him no mind, his eyes bright with madness as they focused on Percy.

_**"The thief, demigod."** _

"I. . .don't. . .know."

"Hades—"

 **_"You lie."_** As Hades spoke in that eerie tone, his hand flexed incrementally, much to Nico's horror; a globule of blood dripped off Percy's chin on cue as his coughing fits became more violent.

Nico felt paralyzed with some strange combination of fear and consternation as Percy's lips curved upward slightly.

"That. . .s'posed. . .to scare. . .me. . .in'o te'ing you? 've had. . .worse."

Hades simply closed his hand into a fist; Percy's lips were stained with blood as he struggled for air that wouldn't come, the crimson color stark against his chalk-white face. And _still,_ his eyes were locked on Hades: bright green, baleful, and unbelievably defiant.

 _Just_ _who was he protecting?_

Nico couldn't imagine being _that_ brave for anyone.

But Percy _was_. And he would die for it; Percy, like the ancient heroes Nico had pretended to be, dying for something he believed. . .for someone. He wasn't stupid. He'd heard Bianca and Percy talking, late at night, when Annabeth and Grover had slept. They had discussed the quest, and Percy had told her that the thief had been a friend. . .misguided, or something like that. But a friend, like Annabeth or Grover.

Percy had claimed that Hades had a temper, and was not a fan of demigods at all.

He'd also told her that their father had loved them very much.

"Stop!" Nico cried out then, his voice piercing the air as the memory powered him. The son of Kronos didn't even glance in his direction. Percy's coughing grew weaker.

The terror inside Nico _roared,_ and Nico felt something in him _move_ as he screamed for his friend one last time.

"Stop. . . _Father!_ "

Nico's father froze, and dropped his hand. His hand relaxed.

Percy took in a slow heaving breath. And another. And then another.

He didn't die.

Nico could have sworn that the dirt beneath his feet had _rumbled_ at his yell, but it was quickly forgotten as his father's head turned haltingly in his and his sister's direction, eyes widening as if he'd forgotten Nico and Bianca had ever been there in the first place, before they narrowed again.

"Stop?" Hades asked quietly, his eyes not quite drained of that lethal, terrifying power as Bianca kneeled beside Percy, her hands hovering above his shaking shoulders. "Why would you have me _stop_ , Nico?"

"Because he's my friend," Nico said, not even recognizing his own strong voice, somehow not stuttering as his father studied him intently. "He protected me and Bianca from monsters, Father."

Hades studied him, his grey eyes boring into Nico's own for a second before he turned his gaze back to Percy, who was attempting to stand up with Bianca's help.

The god didn't say anything for a long while, allowing the muted, uneasy silence of the Underworld to creep over the demigods. Nico shuffled his feet in the silence awkwardly even as he clenched his hands to keep them from shaking.

Hades was _terrifying,_ and he seemed to make the very air hum.

The only sound, for a minute—or maybe two—was of their life, and the dead, far away from them.

"He hasn't tried to hurt either of you?"

"Wha— _no,_ " Nico blurted out, caught off guard by the question; Bianca and Percy looked the same. "No, of course not—why would he?"

"Yeah... Uncle," Percy's eyes somehow communicated the _idea_ of a smug grin as he lifted his head, lips still stained red. "Wh-Why would I?"

Hades's nostrils flared, and his eyes regained some of that inhuman glow.

Nico had a bad feeling that Percy was going to be killed for refusing to shut up someday.

But then, something _weird_ happened.

Percy, still obviously barely conscious, oriented himself in front of Bianca protectively from their father, even as he nearly fell over again. Which, well, Nico could get behind, in every sense of the saying. But his _father. . .  
_

Hades had—gone slack, for lack of a better word, his face blank for the first time.

Percy looked at him defiantly, one hand resting against the collar of his shirt, for some odd reason as Nico walked to his side. It felt— _right_ somehow. To be there. Like they were meant to work like that, as partners.

Nico was probably imagining it.

"So. . ." His father began slowly, looking as if he'd finally solved the answer to a difficult math problem—and Nico would know. He _hated_ algebra. " _That_ is why. Children of Poseidon, you are all the s—"

The Lord of the Dead broke off, his eyes focused on something far off in the distance, and barked something out in a guttural tongue. A wall of obsidian - and how Nico knew that, he couldn't tell, and that was scarier than anything else today - sprung in front of them, and around them before he could look for what made a god look like that.

There was a brief moment of true, unmuffled, silence.

And then the Underworld _cracked._

* * *

The world, Percy noted woozily, seemed to have decided to explode a little, with some ringing, for good measure.

Or maybe that was just his head.

Hades had done a good number on him, and he was pretty sure the glass in his throat wasn't from Explosion #548 in his life. It still didn't quite explain why there was a literal crack in the ground ending barely five feet away from where his head had been. Or why he could see the distinctive light of Greek fire off in the distance, and hear the screams of the damned growing louder from the Fields of Punishment.

"What the hell was that?" Bianca rasped as she clambered to her feet, pulling Percy up with her, with Nico already on his feet.

"Hell," Hades said simply. She glared at him, before what little color was left drained from her face as she realized how literal he was.

You're joking," she whispered. "Tartarus, Percy and Annabeth _said_ —"

"They are demigods, Bianca," he snapped, face taut with tension, and what Percy would have called fear if he hadn't known better. "They do not understand the true nature of the Pit, or of its occupants. They are incapable of any small degree of understanding without walking there themselves—something no demigod has done."

_Wanna bet?_

"And now, some of its. . .inhabitants are rising—and I suspect have already tasted their first blood. They are united, that much is clear, and have now taken out lieutenants of mine as a result, if only temporarily."

"Come again?" Percy interrupted, hoping this wasn't going where he thought it was going. Anything that took down the Furies in their home territory was firmly on Percy's _Do Not Mess With, But Will Probably Have To Anyway_ list.

Hades's mouth tightened. "I have not heard or felt the presence of Alecto and her sisters since I sent them to investigate. I suspect another power in play."

"What kind?"

A shadow briefly crossed the god's face. "The kind, Perseus, that does not concern you."

_Oh, not this crap again._

But, Percy had an inkling as to who "another power" was, and said nothing on the subject; he'd already dealt with enough Godly Suspicion. More would probably actually kill him.

"Can't you call for Percy's dad for help if thing are bad, or any other gods?" Nico asked anxiously before Percy could say anything else; the ground shuddered again beneath their feet, shattering an emerald-and-diamond tree nearby.

Hades let out a bitter laugh. "No one would answer a call for help from me, my son, and most certainly not my brothers and sisters. With the Underworld on the verge of anarchy, I certainly can't afford to tip my hand. We are of the Underworld, and another realm from Olympus. They despise and are jealous of me, and would seize any chance to permanently weaken us."

"But Annabeth and Percy are their kids, aren't they?" Nico tried, his face whiter by the second. Percy felt his heart go out to the younger demigod, in all of his innocence, still ignorant about how their world worked. "They're not dead _yet._ "

"You think your parents care for you? For any of you?" Hades seemed almost smug at the implications of their histories with their children—and Percy couldn't quite blame him. With a very notable exception.

"My mother does," Percy said quietly, his voice still hoarse.

Hades tilted his head with a considering look; he then snapped his fingers with a sigh, creating a small golden flash in the process. "There, boy. Your mother is returned to your home."

Percy felt something in him uncoil—for all of his many, _many_ issues, Hades didn't lie, much—even as his mind raced to the next problem: not dying at the hands at whatever the latest Apocalypse of the Week was. And the small issue of the two symbols of power in Hades's throne room.

"And the bolt," Percy said cautiously. "Y'know, to stop the _other_ war brewing."

"In exchange for what?" Worryingly, the Lord of the Dead did not immediately object; instead, his look became calculating while his children watched the two, their heads turning back and forth as they tried to make sense of the conversation.

"Nothing I can't afford," Percy said firmly. He'd learned his lesson in _that_ regard, if nothing else. Hades's eyebrows raised, a new inkling of respect apparent. Then—

"Promise me you will protect my children," Hades declared suddenly, his eyes locking with Percy's, the expression on his face almost feverish in its madness. "Promise me on the River Styx."

Percy's jaw dropped without his permission. Bianca, meanwhile, had turned pale. _Knew I shouldn't have told her about that stupid river_.

At least he hadn't mentioned Achilles. That wouldn't have gone over well, to say the least.

"Bianca," Nico whispered, eyes darting between Percy and Hades. "what's so impor—"

She shushed him, her piercing gaze uncomfortable against Percy's skin. A tense minute passed, before the son of Poseidon nodded tersely. "I promise on the Styx to protect my cousins as best as I can, Uncle."

His father shook his head wonderingly, as if he had expected for Percy to have said anything else. "Demigods. I will never understand any of you. And I swear on the Styx to return my brother's symbol of power that was stolen on Winter Solstice seven months ago."

The ground shook again, nearly knocking Nico and Bianca off of their feet. Percy could now make out silhouettes the green light of the fire, which couldn't have been more than a mile away.

Hades only gave Percy one last ominous warning before he snapped his fingers, a lighter backpack than before appearing in Percy's hand. But his words rang through the son of Poseidon's head with all the clarity and solemnity of church bells as the world melted away.

"Remember your oath, demigod. And perhaps I will not consign you to the Fields of Damnation after all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: ... So, I'm not dead? Okay, so long story short: Real Life happened, I wound up in the hospital (Nothing life-threatening. Just couldn't write for a while), had school tests, and will have more tests within the next month. Already working on the update, so there should be one before the end of the month if I'm lucky.
> 
> Also, to the guest reviewers demanding I update: I'm flattered you care so much about the story, but just demanding I update soon - in an anonymous review, no less - will have no bearing on when I do. I work on this story when I'm able - and when what I write isn't utter shit.  
> To the rest of you, I love y'all, you're wonderful, and I hope you continue to enjoy the ride.
> 
> Next Chapter: Shit Goes Down, And Our Heroes Examine Their Life Choices (Hint: They're All Pretty Damn Awful)


	8. Look at Your Life, Look at Your Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, battles and general badassery.

_"If you had the chance to change your fate, would you?"_

-Merida, _Brave_

* * *

Percy, the di Angelos, Grover, and Annabeth appeared on the sandy beach of Santa Monica, gasping from the after-effects of Hades's teleportation. As he rolled onto his side with a groan, the son of Poseidon's mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened in the Underworld.

Also, there was trying to deal with the distraction that was the fact he could barely breathe without feeling like he had a metric shit-ton of shattered glass stuck in his throat. That sucked.

Percy rolled over onto his back heaving, only to see a glaring, soaking wet Annabeth Chase leaning over him, righteous fury blazing from her eyes _("Oh, that's my boyfriend. You might have heard of him.")_ with a nervous-looking Grover behind her. Unsurprisingly, her knife was already in her hand, the blade gleaming innocently in the bright sunlight.

In a word, _fuck._

The last time he'd seen anything resembling that look, he'd been judo-flipped onto the streets of New Rome. _("If you **ever** leave me again, I swear to all the gods_ _—")_

"Give me one reason not to drag you before Olympus right now."

Percy racked his probably-concussed brain for an answer. ". . .You couldn't take me?"

A touch of scornful skepticism crept onto Annabeth's face as she snorted. "Debatable. Your pupils are different sizes. And you haven't explained—them."

She waved her hand in the general direction of Bianca and Nico, the former of whom was glaring at the daughter of Athena with a ferocity reminiscent of her father, scarily enough.

" _They_ have a name—I'd thank you to use mine," Bianca said icily, "It is Bianca, in case you have forgotten."

But before Annabeth could launch a rejoinder, Percy interrupted sharply, "I wasn't aware there _was_ anything to explain, Chase. Bianca and Nico are demigods— so are we. I thought that helping them was what we _did._ "

Technically, it was the satyrs, but—Rule #746 of Being A Half-Blood: Details, half the time, are for losers and nerds.

The trick, Percy had learned, was to figure out what half it was when everything went to Hades. As his current situation showed, his success rate wasn't anything to be proud of.

"They haven't done anything other than be _born,_ " he stressed to Annabeth, desperately trying not to think any further on that success rate where children of Hades were concerned. "They're no more dangerous than I am."

"That's what worries me," the daughter of Athena muttered, before adding in a louder voice, "In the course of one month, Jackson, you've nearly caused the end of the world by _existing,_ killed a Kindly One, fought Medusa, and trashed an _entire_ train station; and let's not forget, started a national manhunt for yourself —it doesn't matter if it was your fault or not. Your picture is next to the word 'dangerous' in the dictionary—you're a menace, and they'll be no better!"

Despite himself, Percy gave her a cheeky grin, despite his headache from the beams of light glinting off the ever-stormier waves crashing against the nearby rocks."Thank you, Wise Girl. I didn't know you liked me that much."

Beside him, Nico giggled, but his sarcasm went unappreciated elsewhere, as the tension only increased in the others' faces. Grover nervously commented, "She's g-got a p-point, P-Percy."

"And so do I," Percy said stubbornly. " _Di Immortales,_ Grover—Nico's ten, and Bianca's only eleven. How many times do I have to tell you, they haven't _done_ anything. I mean, Nico, serious question time: have you, or your sister, at any time in the past, what, twenty-four hours, plotted, conspired, or in any way planned to make things difficult for us, or take over the world? " he asked, quelling a feeling of rising hysteria while Bianca gave him a worried look and shook her head perplexedly with Nico. The past few days—the past _week,_ nope, make that the past _year_ to be safe—had been so surreal, and the entire argument—at least from where Percy was standing—was just plain _stupid_.

But hey, it'd been a while since he'd had the chance to bullshit someone in an argument with, as Annabeth had called it, "his particular brand of nonsense", so _upsides,_ yay.

It was possible he was a tiny bit delirious. Maybe.

_("Maybe, Kelp Head? Get you and your reckless ass over here **yesterday**_ _—")_

Nico shook his head shyly as Percy gestured at him. "See, Owl Head? They're just kids, and the only danger they present is in Nico's Mythomagic cards."

"Hey, Mythomagic is _cool_ —"

" _We're_ just kids, Jackson, and that's not stopping us from mtrying to save the world."

"Um, Percy—"

"Still, Percy you should have told me and Grover, we had a right to know, didn't we?"

"Leave me out of this, Annabeth—but, P-Percy? S-She is right."

"Everyone—"

"Is this about Thalia? Because if so—"

" _Thalia_ is none of your gods-damned business, and I am not emotionally compromised, _Jackson_ —"

"Never suggested you weren't, _Chase_ —"

"Guys!" Bianca hollered.

Annabeth and Percy immediately fell silent, the son of Poseidon's headache receding in the sudden, unnatural silence, before they turned to look at her in unison, anger from their fight still etched in every line of their bodies; Percy could see the daughter of Hades swallow roughly before pointing with a single, shaking finger over Percy's shoulder.

"Is that another god?"

Percy cursed the Fates, Gaea, and his own stupid luck under his breath as they all turned around, the fight already nearly forgotten as all of them tried to pick out the imposing man sauntering down the quickly emptying beach.

As he squinted into the setting sun, feeling almost dizzy with the almost-definitely-a-concussion, Percy couldn't help but think he _might_ have miscalculated which fights to pick as he palmed Riptide into his right hand, and stepped forward to meet the smirking god of war.

_Here we go again._

* * *

"You were supposed to die, kid."

"Oh, really, is that it?" Percy asked lightly. "Well, then. I better run down to Uncle and ask him to off me because you, a just and merciful god, have order it to be so—oh, _wait_."

Percy was pretty sure he could hear Grover moaning in despair. Ares, though, grinned cruelly, the fire in his eyes dancing. "You've still got your spunk. I like it— too many of you brats turn out to be such _whiners_ , never bothering to fight, always bemoaning your life. You're different, Perseus Jackson."

"Oh, a compliment from _you_?" Percy exclaimed sarcastically. "I can finally die happy now."

The god chortled. "Shame I'll have to kill you now. And the witnesses, I suppose."

Percy felt his hackles raise at the threat to Annabeth, Grover, and the di Angelos, but fought to keep his voice level as he responded; he _had_ to get Ares to confess again before they fought, or he'd be on a one-way trip back to Tartarus the second he handed over the bolt to Zeus, and this time, he suspected there would be no magic get-out-of-jail card.

"Witnesses? Like, crime witnesses? What are you talking about?" Percy asked confusedly. "You're not saying. . .you stole the bolt and helm, didn't you?!"

"Of course I am, stupid," Ares said in a patient, condescending tone that made his skin crawl. "With you in possession of both weapons when you enter the Underworld, Corpse Breath kills you for stealing his helm, pissing off Barnacle Beard. Meanwhile, Pops is still convinced you stole his master bolt, and is gonna be furious at your old man. At the same time, he's on Corpse Breath's hit list for trying to steal his helm via his stupid nosy kid, and is _always_ looking for an excuse to be pissed at Pops. Then, we've got a good old-fashion family feud going—god sized. See what I'm getting at?"

Percy definitely could. Leading questions were _awesome._ And Annabeth said— _had_ said that he never learned anything in school. Well, technically, it'd been from Paul, after the incident with half the NYPD and the three Manticore lawyers.

Still totally counted.

It'd been a weird day, and Nico and Thalia never let him live it down—or at least, they hadn't. And that made his chest hurt again.

At yet another confusion of tenses, Percy couldn't help but feel a slight sense of panic; the explosion—or whatever the hell had happened in the Underworld, which was outright terrifying, because immortal beings did not just _do_ crap like that for shits and giggles in any timeline, and what made something like that explosion anyway—must have done more damage than he thought it had. Concussions always made him loopy.

"I see," Percy said slowly, still trying to look like he was gradually working his way to the big secret. "You mean _. . .you_ started this war? But why?"

"Why?" Ares repeated mockingly. "I am the god of war, bloodlust, battle—this war would do nothing but serve me, Perseus Jackson, empower me. There is nothing like watching relatives desperately try to end each others' existences, I say. World War Two? Pah—that's nothing but a school scuffle. _This_ , now, this will be where it's at. The sons of Kronos smashing each other, gods and monsters taking sides, humans dying _everywhere_ —the blood will never stop running. It will be a beautiful fight."

"That's horrible. They're your family!" Annabeth exclaimed. Percy resisted the urge to snort; not five minutes ago she'd been advocating a death sentence for certain other family members of theirs.

"I told you, girlie," Ares sneered, "It's the only kind of fight worth watching. Even your fool of a mother knows that."

Annabeth growled at this, but before she could defend Athena, Grover placed his hand on her arm, whispering something in her ear urgently. The anger didn't completely disappear, but she stood down—freeing Percy to ask the final, damning question.

"But, why keep it?" he asked, green eyes as wide and naïve as he could make them. "You're the god of war, you know your weaponry. With it, you wouldn't need to use any tricks like this. You could do what you wanted, without someone else coming along."

Same as last time, a single muscle in Ares's jaw twitched, before his face smoothed over like a lake on a staid summer day, and his eyes gained a glazed look as he began to mutter under his breath, seemingly arguing with himself.

But Percy knew better now. Luke had done the same thing, in the final days before taking on Kronos's spirit.

The short silent seconds ticked by slow as molasses, and with each passing moment, Percy could feel the pain in his head spike, increasing to the point he felt almost faint.

But before he could anything more than grimace, it suddenly dropped away at the last moment to manageable levels, weirdly enough.

_Must have achieved a new level of zen pain tolerance._

It was far from the oddest thing to happen today, anyway—or even the top ten. All of a sudden, as Percy dismissed it, Ares's face cleared and he spoke again, his bravado slightly more cracked than before. "Didn't want the risk of being caught with it. Much easier to let one of you brats get caught.

"But it's the most powerful weapon in the world," Percy said wonderingly. "You're the _god of war_ —you would be unstoppable."

And finally, the first clue.

"Wait, wait a minute. It wasn't your idea, was it?" he whispered, looking at the others as their faces reflected his admittedly awful acting—at least if Grover was anything to go by. "Someone—someone _told_ you what to do, didn't they?"

The flames in Ares's eye sockets _blazed._ "I am the god of war, immortal son of Zeus! No one would _dare_ give me any sort of orders!"

"Someone did," Percy countered. "You didn't steal anything—that was still a demigod. But when you were sent to hunt them down, and found them, you didn't let them go. Someone convinced you to let them go, convinced you it would be worth it. Something from the Pit, probably."

"I take orders from no one, boy! I am the god of war, and certainly no _dream_ gives me orders!"

"I never mentioned any dreams," Percy said quietly.

Ares froze, and the fire in his eyes crackled. Finally, he rearranged his mouth into a facsimile of a smile, and in a new congenial tone said, "No idea what you're talking about kid. Now, I've got to kill you—no hard feelings, I just can't afford for this to get around, y'know what I mean? My hardheaded family might actually listen for once if you get to Olympus. It's nothing personal."

He casually snapped his fingers. A moment later, a wild boar as tall as Percy exploded out of the sand at the god's feet, charging for the demigod with aggressive abandon, red eyes glinting with the malice of its creator, its foot-long tusks gleaming.

Unlike last time, Percy didn't bother with banter, didn't try to convince Ares to fight him first. There was a giant stupid boar trying to kill him. He had a pointy sword he knew how to use, far better than last time. He saw, stepped to the side like someone with a sense of self-preservation _("No comment from the peanut gallery, **anyone**_ _ **—** " "Too late, Seaweed Brain.") _and easily ducked down and up, slashing the boar's throat wide open with ease.

It collapsed at his feet, before exploding into dust. Then, with the green dust still coating his sneakers, Percy glared at Ares challengingly with as much venom as he could muster—which was quite a bit, to be honest. "Care to try yourself next? Or would you prefer to summon another pig with more fight than you? Doesn't matter either way to me. I'll win."

In his head, a loud voice was telling Percy to quit his Heracles/Antaeus/General Jackass Hero impersonation. Percy told that voice to shut up, he was busy.

The god snickered, but Percy could hear the uneasiness in his voice. "Oh, you come out of one meeting with a boar alive and think you can face _me_? I'm the god of war, boy. Nobody can defeat me, least of all a scrawny, jumped-up punk like you."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "Just sounds like you're afraid to me. I mean, you're going to break out the threats next, right? Threaten to turn me into a cockroach, or a tapeworm, or another spirit animal of yours? How about this: You win, you turn me into whatever creature suits your little heart's desire. I win, you go the hell away. Simple enough—unless, of course, you're afraid I'll win?"

He'd considered, briefly, on the long nights spent on the train, somewhere between St. Louis and Lincoln, asking for something else—he could win, he knew. And a god on call would be useful.

Unless, however, you were Perseus Jackson with the universe out to get you, and that god was Ares, who would kill him in his sleep the next chance he got. It was better, he figured, to not try and tempt fate to fuck him over more than usual.

Never let it be said he couldn't take a hint once in a while.

Ares was red with rage by the time he was finished talking, and Percy could have sworn he saw literal smoke rising from his eyes. But, there was tiny seed of - apprehension. Not fear, or anything close. But Percy had just predicted his next go-to steps—those of a god, no less. That was, he knew, worrying to someone like Ares.

He couldn't back down; wouldn't back down in this situation. Ares sneered, and swung a baseball bat off his shoulder that Percy could've sworn hadn't been there before. "Whatever floats your soon to be destroyed boat, brat. How would you prefer you smashing: classic or modern?"

Percy silently held up Riptide. Ares grinned. "Classic it is. I always had a fondness for a good old-fashioned sword fight anyway."

The bat melted into a faintly familiar two-handed sword—but not, Percy realized with a start, familiar from the last fight. He remembered _Mars_ wielding this sword in the last battle, almost discarding it at Frank's screaming when he had been trapped, the entire weapon stained with the blood of earth-born afterward—and the blade shattering against Porphyrion's spear, the god's fierce grief blinding him as he was overpowered.

Yet it was still most definitely Ares in front of him, rage and swagger defining every point in his body.

Percy chanced a last look at the three demigods and single satyr behind him. Nico looked like he might explode from emotion, Bianca was giving him his mom's patented what-are-you-doing-you-stupid-brave-child-look, Grover's body language screamed his desire to run, with his eyes locked on Percy the whole time, and Annabeth—Annabeth also had worry in her eyes, but also there another glint in her eyes, almost—knowing, seemingly.

Telling him she could see what he had done. That she agreed with his strategy, even if she didn't understand it. And that she was, for once, on the same page with him.

She also, for a moment, was an exact replica of the Annabeth Percy remembered. Bits of pride were there, but the knowing, beginnings of deadly cunning in those grey eyes were like a knife to the chest for Percy. He _knew_ that expression, had kissed it senseless more than once on an older Annabeth, when one of their crazy plans worked.

It was only then, that Percy realized, that the Annabeth-that-he-remembered was still there, if in his tactics more than anything else.

Six years with his Annabeth, his best friend and girlfriend, had left their mark, and his Wise Girl was still there, in every decision he had made, smirking knowingly as he muddled through his plans, ready to have his back with a muttered _"Seaweed Brain."_

For a moment, standing by himself in a beach facing a malevolent god, with strangers he would die for, Percy couldn't help but feel that much less alone.

Then, of course, Ares beckoned, ruining his little moment. _Bastard._ "Well, punk? Done enjoying your last moments in this life? I've limitless strength, power, and eternity on my side. You have, what? That toothpick?"

Percy smirked. "I prefer to call it a butter knife."

_Right, Jackson. Less brooding and bantering, more godly ass-kicking._

Percy backed up towards the surf, same as last time. Ares raised his sword and cleaved downward toward his head, same as last time. Percy catapulted overhead, actively using the water to manage a cleaner landing than last time, and as Ares paused in surprise, he darted forward, aiming for the small of his back, when Ares deflected.

The god then pressed, and Percy was forced to duck, then sidestep, then jump, or some combination of all four, over and over again. Ares kept pressing, and it all Percy could do to not let himself slip and get killed.

Being twelve and short _sucked._

At last, Percy then feinted left in a move he'd done hundreds of times—one, in fact, that had worked against Kronos, once. At the last moment possible, he whipped Riptide right, and the point was sailing home toward the ever-dignified spot of Ares's right armpit when—

The god parried and paused, his face remarkably blank, before suddenly slashing forward again, aiming for Percy's neck with lethal force. Unremarkable, really, except for one thing. It had been a textbook move from an experienced swordsman.

It had also been a signature move of Kronos during that war. He had always, always, recovered against a feint the exact same way, and then went back on the offense via a strike at the jugular.

But Percy couldn't afford to think on it too long, as Ares took advantage of his distraction, and tripped him easily before disarming him. Riptide went flying behind Ares, and Percy fell onto his back, barely able to breathe from impact. The god let loose an excited cackle to the skies, even as he kept an eye on his prey, the flames in his eyes burning contentedly, so utterly sure of what Percy would do next, the obvious attempt to regain his weapon.

But instead of attempting to run past the god for his sword, Percy began to slowly back into the surf, subconsciously reaching out to temporarily restrain the water around him as he reached for Triton's gift around his neck; despite the fact that he was facing down the god of war, and by all rights should have been scared out of wits, he couldn't suppress the thrill of adrenaline at finally getting a chance to use another weapon. It would certainly make things easier. And besides, he'd always wanted a shot at using a trident.

Not that he'd ever tell Triton; Percy would never hear the end of it.

It did run in the family, apparently.

Then, as he felt the cord begin to snap against the pressure, and he began to fight a smug smile curling the edges of his lips, a familiar voice, _with gods-damned annoying timing_ sounded through the air, ringing with anger and—something else.

But that couldn't possibly be _fear_ in his voice; Percy had seen Luke Castellan face far worse than this, after all.

"Ares! Why pick on a child, when you can fight someone in your own class? Leave him— _I_ challenge you."

"C'mon, Luke," Percy muttered exasperatedly as the son of Hermes stalked towards them, his face pale and furious as his—Celestial Bronze only, thank the gods—sword shone in what was left of the California sunlight. "I could've taken him."

The war god laughed nastily at Luke's challenge as the demigod stopped between Percy and Ares. "You, son of Hermes? You, with only a failed quest to your name? The punk here'll put up a better fight."

Luke said nothing, but his face hardened, making his scar stand out even more, a stark white against his tan. Ares continued to laugh, and lazily raised his sword. "Alright then. I can take out two of you at once, I suppose."

Luke froze for a long second, his eyes trained on Ares, studying the god.

Suddenly, he then darted forward, and the two swords met with a clang.

Percy took the opportunity to retrieve Riptide, quickly joining the fight, quickly working through compensation for a two-on-one fight. Amazingly enough, there were few mistakes. Luke in this timeline had trained him a bit more before camp, and had picked up on some of his particular quirks, easily adjusting now. In turn, Percy had spent years fighting for his life against the talented swordsman. He knew Luke's style, inside and out.

And they complimented each other absurdly well. Luke parried a harsh blow with the hilt of his sword and Percy took advantage of the gap left in Ares's defense, nearly drawing blood. When he stumbled back, Luke easily swept in and forced the god to train his attention elsewhere.

But Ares was still _Ares,_ no matter how good they were. They were at a stalemate, and at the rate they were going, the two demigods would have to eventually give.

"Percy, Luke!" Annabeth yelled over the clangs and dings of metal. "Cops!"

He wasn't able to turn his head away from the fight, but out of the corner of his eye, Percy could see red lights out of the corner of his eye along with officers rushing out of their vehicles, and knew Luke could too, as he tuned out the yells of "They're armed!" and "Hey, isn't that the Jackson kid?".

They had to tip the balance, and _fast._ Percy had rarely been more grateful for his ADHD as he took in every last detail, from the line of officers lining up with their pistols in hand, to the sweat beading on his forehead, to even the waves crashing against his ankles - _jackpot._

Percy looked to Luke as he swerved right, avoiding a blow that would have chopped his left arm off, then shifting his gaze to the ocean behind them, his intent clear. Luke's eyes lit up, and the two demigods began to back into the water as Percy began to restrain it, resisting the pressure, all the while attempting to keep Ares occupied.

They needn't have bothered, though. The water was lapping at the small of Percy's back when Ares turned to glare threateningly at the officers, giving Percy and Luke a moment to breathe as he roared at the spectators to "Be gone!", before setting the police cars aflame with a wave of his hand, setting people fleeing as fast as they could.

"Holy shit," Luke muttered.

"Yeah," Percy agreed.

"What's the plan?"

"Jump."

Thankfully, Luke didn't question him. "When?"

"When I release the tide."

Luke _did_ give him a weird look that time. "Right."

Ares advanced on them, and Percy lowered blade, pretending he was too exhausted to fight anymore. Luke, however, refused to lower his weapon, retaining a baleful look as he glared at the war god. Ares grinned nastily, and raised his sword above Percy's head.

Percy told the sea to go have fun, and he and Luke rocketed over Ares's head as the god was slammed with a seven-foot tidal wave, knocking him back a good yard, cursing and sputtering. Luke, thankfully, recovered quickly from the jump, even though he was thoroughly soaked. Percy wasted no time as he landed on his feet, and darted forward, feinting for Ares's head as Luke swung at his rib cage. However, as the disoriented god struggled to meet both demigods' blows, Percy suddenly changed direction and swung Riptide downward into the water, piercing Ares's heel.

It felt just as good as last time.

Ares roared to the heavens, blasting the water around back at least sixty feet as Percy and Luke quickly backed out of potential godly-tantrum range. Ichor freely flowed from the wound as Ares clutched it and looked up at the two demigods. The expression on his face was the same as last time: beyond loathing, it was disbelief, uncomprehending shock and rage, incapable of believing he had actually been wounded.

"Tis but a flesh wound, Ares," Percy said sagely. "You'll heal."

Luke groaned. "Don't antagonize the pissed-off god, Percy, _please_."

If it was possible, the glare on Ares's face intensified as he hauled himself up, limping toward them as he swore under his breath in ancient Greek.

"Leave," Percy ordered.

Ares gave derisive laugh. "Why should I? You had help from that blasted son of Hermes - that was not the terms we agreed to."

"I drew first blood, and neither of us swore a binding oath," Percy informed him smugly.

"You'd better listen," Luke added warningly. "I'd still rather like a try."

Ares took a step closer, his entire position promising a world of hurt for the demigods, when Kronos made his presence known. At least, Percy knew it was him.

The entire world seemed drained of color for a minute, faded in some way that was inherently _wrong._ Sound drained away, and the sun seemed to have disappeared from existence as a cold, dark presence pressed itself onto the world, dropping the temperature down to freezing levels, slowing time in a sickeningly familiar way, the insidious feeling of how nothing was worth _anything_ sinking into his bones. If he hadn't been too busy watching Luke for any sign of a reaction—which was to say, none—Percy would have worried over his new urge to throw up.

Then, as quick as it had come, the darkness disappeared. The birds chirped, the sun shone, and Percy was thirty seconds away from a good old-fashioned panic attack.

Ares looked like he'd been hit with the godly equivalent of frying pan to the face.

"You have both made an enemy of Ares, son of Zeus, this day, godlings. Son of Poseidon, son of Hermes, you will beware, for you have earned my enmity. Beware."

The god's body began to glow; Annabeth yelled a warning, but Percy and Luke were already covering their eyes as Ares revealed his true immortal form, and disappeared.

Silence reigned on the beach, but for the crashing of small waves against the sand, and the crackling of flames from where the police cars had been set on fire. There, only five demigods and single satyr remained. Percy and Luke looked at each for a minute in the awkward silence.

They'd worked well together, Percy admitted to himself. And it had been almost fun.

He'd never quite had the chance to fight back-to-back with another sword fighter quite like that in the last timeline; Annabeth preferred her dagger, Thalia her bow and hunting knives, Grover stuck to his pipes, and Nico had always favored the stealthier side of his powers in a fight, something that hadn't always been good for Percy and Thalia's blood pressure.

Percy then gave a nonchalant shrug, shoving the memories down with a vicious mental push. "We're still standing, and the apocalypse doesn't look to be coming that quickly. I say call bullshit and forget about it."

Luke grimaced. "Doesn't quite work like that, kid—there are Laws governing stuff like this."

"Screw the Laws."

The son of Hermes snickered, and his mouth curved upward, but his shoulders remained tight, and he didn't release his grip on his sword.

"Luke? What are you _doing_ here?" Annabeth questioned, her grey eyes wide, worried, and locked on Luke, who now seemed to be considering how far he could get running before Annabeth tackled him, pro football-style. Percy could testify to her competence in this area.

"You do need to explain," Percy warned at Luke.

The son of Hermes gave a bitter laugh as he sheathed his sword. "Sure—it's not like I have anything left to lose."

"Explain what?" Grover asked, his eyes darting back and forth between everyone.

"You're the thief, aren't you," Bianca said, her eyes knowing and quietly furious. "You're the one Percy wouldn't name."

Nico gasped. Luke's brow furrowed at her second sentence. "What?"

"Percy almost _died_ because of you." The voice that came from Nico di Angelo was too angry and dark for Percy to ever hear from his cousin—much less any other nine-year-old. It was far too close to "the Ghost King" for his liking, _ever._

"Nico, it's fine," Percy consoled. "It was all a giant mistake—"

"He's right, Percy," Luke interrupted, sounding the most defeated Percy had ever seen him, in any timeline; Nico opened his mouth, but Bianca quickly hushed him, whispering something in what sounded like Italian. Annabeth, meanwhile, looked like she'd just had her heart ripped out.

 _"Luke. . ._ how could you? After Thalia?"

And as Annabeth's voice cracked on Thalia's name, something in Luke's face seemed to break.

"It was _because_ of her, Annabeth, and I know it was wrong, but—Annabeth, please, you have to understand, I didn't want power, or Olympus gone, or any of that insane shit he said," Luke implored, his blue eyes full of naked panic.

"I-I, I just wanted _change._ After Thalia and the Great Prophecy, after centuries of us, demigods, all being treated like _worthless pawns_ by the gods, I was ready to raze Olympus itself, I felt like there was no other choice but to force a war—and then you came along, Percy. You managed to get me to actually _think_ , about what he said, I don't even know how. But you saved me from something awful, I mean—"

"Wait—he who, Luke?" Annabeth asked suspiciously. Luke turned white as he realized his slip of the tongue, but Percy quickly interceded before Annabeth could go any further.

"Then come back with us, Luke," Percy urged. "You helped beat Ares and stop World War Three. Besides," he added, with a speculative look at the other four demigods. "We don't _have_ to tell Zeus."

Grover's jaw dropped. "Percy—that's, but that's—"

"I know," he said harshly. At the hurt look that crossed Grover's face, Percy quickly backed up, trying to soften his tone. "But if Zeus gets any idea it was possibly Luke, he'll get blasted before you can say Camp Half-Blood. I believe him—he helped _fight_ Ares, he didn't help him. Grover. You'll get your license. This is all on me, if it gets out, I promise."

"What, P-P-Percy, I'm not worried about my license—screw that," the satyr said incredulously. "I'm worried about protecting my best friend from getting himself killed for insisting on playing the hero."

Annabeth snorted. "That's an understatement—but I'm in, Seaweed Brain, as long as neither of you promise not to do anything else nearly that dumb again," she ordered Luke.

Luke laughed. "Yes, ma'am." At his cheeky response and sloppy salute, Annabeth turned bright red.

Bianca, on the other end of the spectrum, looked suspiciously at Luke, but said nothing. She did, however, take a cautious step closer to Nico as he nodded a bit too eagerly at Grover's statement and continued to darkly glower as he studied an uncomfortable-looking son of Hermes, despite his sister's watchful gaze.

_I think I like you, Bianca di Angelo._


	9. Family Reunions Are Overrated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, PTSD, panic attack in the first half of the third to last section. (Very nasty flashbacks to the second Titanomachy and war, please skip if panic attacks and the like trigger you.)

_"If there's one thing I've learned over the eons, it's that you can't give up on your family, no matter how tempting they make it."_

_-Hermes,_ Percy Jackson & the Sea of Monsters

* * *

_Thank the gods for Luke and Annabeth._

As Percy dug his nails into the armrests and resolutely shut his eyes, waiting either for a turbulent takeoff or for Zeus to blast him and everyone else on the plane back to Hades, it was pretty much the only thing his brain chose to process coherently.

Well, that and how deliciously good the painkillers Luke had gotten _("Do I want to know where you got them?" "_ _—Probably not.")_ were.

The migraine and bruises were now a distant thing, a nightmare to shove in the back of his mind and never, ever, think about ever again, along with the rest of his train wreck of a life.

But really, without either of the other two demigods, they'd probably still be in Santa Monica, fending off rabid reporters and rabid monsters. As the reporters had fed them the same story as last time—"Percy Jackson, over the last couple of weeks, you have been through an awful experience, and yet seem to have emerged from it all the stronger with your friends, and after battling your kidnapper so bravely. . ."—all any of them had to do was to act teary, terrified, and exhausted; in other words, the truth.

From there, Annabeth and Luke had managed to manipulate the press and police effectively enough to get them all plane tickets back to New York, and Percy had managed to once again convince the entire world to fleece his stepfather via free major appliances.

Some things, Percy had been delighted to learn, never got old, even when you were concussed out of your mind and down a pint of blood.

From there, it only been a matter in educating Bianca and Nico in the fine art of modern airplane security, a pissy thunder god who ruled the skies, and how to never, ever, get on another plane as long as they lived after this—or at least as long as they had such a fucking drama queen as ruler of the universe.

Which, sadly, looked like it would be a long time if Percy succeeded.

"Percy? You _do_ know Zeus isn't going blow us up with his Master Bolt lying across your lap, right?"

"You don't know that for sure," Percy muttered, his grip tightening at the mention of the territorial Lord of the Sky. Luke laughed softly, but it had brittle, false quality to it, prompting Percy to look up at the other demigod. Much to his surprise, and more than a little worry, he seemed to be barely holding himself together.

Though, Percy mused, he probably wouldn't be looking so good either if he were in Luke's position.

"Something wrong?"

"Besides the usual?" Luke asked, with no small amount of bitterness in his voice. "I was just thinking, what did Nicky—"

Percy rolled his eyes. _Gods, not you too. Triton's bad enough._

"Nico."

"— _Nico_ mean by you almost dying because of me?"

Despite the fact that he already knew both of the di Angelos were three rows back and dead to the world, with Annabeth and Grover right behind them, Percy craned his neck around his airplane seat to look, the businessman behind him loudly jabbering away in something that sounded eerily like the Creole French that Hazel had occasionally tried out against Frank's Canadian, something that had always been awesome to witness in translation via Piper, _("This can't be right, Hazel "Your green shoe is acrasia?")_ but that wasn't— _don't go there, Jackson, not yet._

Percy checked they were asleep before turning back to Luke. "It's nothing—just a misunderstanding while we were in the Underworld, and wasn't your fault. Honestly, I've had a lot worse."

But Luke refused to let it go, his mouth tightening at Percy's determined flippancy. "That means something almost happened, Percy. He said you almost _died_. Because of _me._ I need to know—please."

"Not really," Percy said tiredly. His injuries—sans the concussion—were nothing compared to what he had, and it'd really been his fault. "Look, just forget about it? I'm more worried about getting the Master Bolt back to Zeus than a few bruises. Nico was just exaggerating what happened. I'm _fine,_ Luke. Let it go."

The son of Hermes didn't look any more convinced, but Percy leaned his head back, and tried to close his eyes. But, before he could begin to drift off, Luke dragged his attention back to the waking world. "Listen, before. . .before we touch back down in New York, there's something I should probably tell you about why I stole the bolt, about who—"

"Luke, I know it was Kronos." Percy interrupted. A moment later, he was reluctantly impressed by Luke's reaction. He had never seen anyone go that shade of white before—rather what he'd always imagined a unicorn would look like.

_Yup, those painkillers are **good.**_

"You— _what?_ How?" Luke exclaimed, panicked. "He didn't get to you, how h—"

 _"Luke._ It'll be fine. He doesn't, and probably won't, care."

"But how did you know?" he persisted, his eyes darting around the plane, almost like he was waiting for the Crooked Bastard himself to be one of the flight attendants, complete with one of the outdated blue uniforms—which Percy would pay dearly to see—and a bunch of those stupid peanut packets on hand. _Seriously, if I'm going to get fed, I demand it be given in high volume and quantity. The size of those things is stupid.  
_

But that was beside the point. Also, Luke, much to Percy's worried surprise, looked like he was going to be sick.

"I, um, had a dream," Percy lied. Technically. He did have a dream with Kronos talking to Luke, so he was kind of telling the truth? Close enough, anyway. "When did you find out?"

Luke didn't answer for a moment, instead letting his eyes finally land on the blue fabric of the seat in front of him, his gaze far away.

"Luke?"

"I didn't realize it was— _him_ , at first," Luke began quietly. "He was just. . .so understanding at first. I was so _angry,_ and no one would listen, Thalia was _gone_ , no one understood. My mother had become a lunatic, and I was trapped in a _summer camp_ , unable to do anything or talk to anyone who knew what it was really like, and I didn't trust Chiron as far as I could throw him. Annabeth was _seven_ , I couldn't make her deal with my issues. She'd just lost Thalia, and was already hurting. I just, I couldn't do anything to endanger her."

Percy hummed in agreement. He knew the feeling. "So, what happened?"

"I—the voice—I believed I didn't know who it was. It could've been anyone, from a Siren to my father. Hell, a part of me hoped it _was_ my father. And then. . .and then, he said he was going to give me a quest, a way to finally prove my worth."

Despite himself, Percy felt what was left of his battered heart go out to Luke as he listened, and heard the derision towards his past self, the guilt; and above all, the raw _pain_ in the older demigod's voice at what his choices had brought for all of them.

"He ordered me to steal the Master Bolt," Luke whispered. "And I agreed. And it was so _easy,_ Percy. The gods, they were so arrogant, so confident that no one would dare challenge them, that all I had to do was wait until Zeus was too deep in his cups to notice—hell, I was in New Jersey, before anyone even knew. And then they were all yanked out of their comfortable little bubbles, because I had stolen from them."

"You felt like you had no other choice," Percy realized. Luke shook his head.

"No, I didn't. I just, all I knew I _had_ to protect Annabeth from any godly meddling, make Thalia's sacrifice mean something—I was prepared to just _leave_ —"

 _"Abandon_ camp?" Percy asked incredulously. This was before he'd come back—how had he not _noticed?_

Luke shrugged nonchalantly. "Why shouldn't I have? Kronos has— _had_ plans for me, Annabeth had her cabin mates, and the closest friend I ever had is a fucking _tree._ Not like dear old dad was being much help, either."

"So, what made you not?" Percy asked suspiciously. At this, the son of Hermes gave him a knowing look, with the beginnings of a familiar, terrifying look. Percy only knew dread. He'd only seen that look in one place before.

Any time the Stolls had been within a mile of Dylan's Candy Bar. Nothing could compete once either of them got the very _idea_ of the shop into their thick skulls. It was, apparently, genetic beyond Travis and Connor.

"Well, there was this idiot kid who was too nosy and too talented with a sword for his good." Luke paused to give him a roguish grin. Percy began to contemplate the logistics of getting Riptide out in an airplane.

"So, I was forced to train him to keep him from getting someone killed. Then, things got worse."

Luke paused, apparently relishing the heightening drama. Percy didn't know whether to roll his eyes or let the painkillers sweep him away to enthrallment.

"He _grew_ on me."

"Oh, shut up—"

"It was a magnificent partnership—"

"I swear to any god listening, Luke, I will—"

"Then, he turned out to be Big Three," Luke said in a gentler tone. Percy duly shut up. "And I couldn't really just leave him now, could I?"

Percy was not blushing. Not. At. All.

It was the painkillers. Really.

"No, nope, not listening, painkillers calling my name, see you on the other side, _bye,_ Luke!"

Percy hurriedly leaned his chair back, and closed his eyes yet again. But before sleep finally claimed him, Percy was able to catch a soft laugh from the demigod beside him, full of reluctant fondness as fatigue swept him away.

"Sweet dreams, kid."

* * *

He didn't.

* * *

 _Percy was in front of the golden throne_ — _ **Kronos's** throne_ _—this time, instead of hiding behind a column. Terrifyingly, the bejeweled coffin in which Kronos had been resurrected, had now been placed in front of it, the lid removed. Percy, however, could not see, and did not dare to imagine, what, or who, was inside._

_As he beheld the throne room, all around him, Percy began to take in the throne room, he was able to notice unsettling aspects of the hall he was in. Detail that the last time he had dreamt of the Titans' stronghold had still been destroyed. Unscarred marble belied the truth of how long Othrys had been abandoned, and the entire palatial fortress looked as if it had been completed only yesterday.  
_

_The palace had been completely reconstructed, down to the last inch of ostentatious gold leaf and intricate marble carvings._

_Instinctively, Percy knew this was not a trick on the part of Kronos or Gaea, or some relived nightmare. This was the truth.  
_

_Mount Othrys had been resurrected. All it lacked was its liege._

_The dreary cold, however, remained the same, somehow permeating every inch of his body, sapping him of life and energy and heat, leaving him shivering as he cautiously approached the coffin, biting down on the terror of what he would see inside. Distantly, he took note of the faint taste of electricity that lay upon his tongue.  
_

_Finally, he ground to a halt a foot away, and he peered into the golden casket._

_Inside the coffin lay a body._

_It was no one he knew._

_Percy breathed out an involuntary sigh of equal parts relief and self-recrimination, watching in fascination as his breath condensed in the air, as if it were the bleak mid-winter, and not the warm days of summer bearing down upon the world._

_Gods, it was so cold._

_Then, in the muffled silence, he heard the sound of breathing. He held his breath, and it continued. Percy looked down at the inside of the casket in horror. He attempted to move away, but his body refused to obey, frozen in place.  
_

_The Lord of Time's eyes snapped open, the icy gold stare piercing Percy's very soul. A small, cruel smile curved his mouth._

_"Hello, grandchild."_

* * *

Percy did not scream when he awoke. He made no sound at all, as a matter of fact.

That did not slow the frantic beating of his heart, did not alter its rhythm, the rhythm that matched the strings of prophetic rhyme singing through his veins.

The prophetic rhyme that sang of sacrifice and soul, a fourth age, of inevitable _**destruction.**_

 _Closer,_ the prophecy crooned. _The three-formed comes. **Closer.**_

Percy shivered.

* * *

"Awake already, Sleeping Beauty?"

"I am not a fucking Disney Prin—wait, is this your coat? Why am I covered in it like I'm three?"

"Relax, Jackson. You were shivering so hard you were about to fall out of your seat, and the last thing you need is pneumonia on top of all the other crap you have going on. I certainly don't need it now."

"Gods above, I'm fine, I was just _sleeping_ _—"_

"Riiiiight, talk to me when your lips aren't purple. Go back to sleep, kid."

"Of course, Counselor Luke sir, yes sir."

"Brat. _Sleep_."

* * *

Percy Jackson dreamed no more. But he did not suffer a single nightmare.

* * *

The fact that it was for their own safety didn't make Percy feel like any less of a slimy bastard as he easily convinced—read: manipulated—Annabeth, Luke, and Grover to go back to Camp Half-Blood with Bianca and Nico. Luke, unsurprisingly, proved pigheaded, but one mention of Thalia and a similar fate befalling Bianca and Nico proved effective for all three of them.

Percy hated himself, sometimes. _("It was to protect you, always to keep you **safe**_ _—")_

But this last part of the quest, he still had to do by himself, as well as convince the council to take the damn chill pill already and _relax_ where him and his cousins were concerned, without giving away the fact that someone had decided to fuck with time, much less some of his burgeoning suspicions as to who was responsible.

He couldn't afford the chance of anything coming out too early, much less at all. The gods, he remembered, had barely let him live the _first_ time, without a Big Three demigod as an actual time traveler. Ares, Athena, Hera, and Dionysus, would all be paranoid enough, and the Drama Queen of the Sky wouldn't be in much of a mood disagree. As for Poseidon—well.

_("Still. . .I am sorry you were born, child.")_

As for the di Angelos, what Olympus didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

Chiron would know, Percy would protect them, they'd keep Kronos far and away from either of the children of Hades, and that would be fucking that.

And now, Percy realized as he attempted to tune out the torture Apollo called elevator music, he knew exactly what his mother felt like all those years with Gabe in their home, and an oblivious, increasingly bitter demigod. Making a sacrifice that, without explanation, and it would be a cold day in Tartarus before Percy would fully explain just why he was doing what he did, only lead to alienation.

_Scratch the previous statement: I really hate myself._

But he could live with that. Would gladly take it, if it meant the people he loved were safe.

_Ding._

Percy gave a violent start, reaching for Riptide without thought, when he realized it wasn't an attack—or rather, the end of one.

The fucking Muzak had stopped, and the doors to Olympus opened. Percy sheepishly sheathed Riptide, rather grateful no one had seen it.

Despite having seen it before, despite having seen the perched gardens blooming with impossibly vibrant life dotting a city of white mansions, despite having the largest ivory palace of them all, despite having fought and healed and _bled_ upon the steps he stood on now, Percy's jaw still dropped without his permission.

It was, after all, the tip of a mountain on top of the Empire State Building, with a Greek city populated by actual _gods_ sprawling across it. How no mortal had gotten a clue, Percy would never know.

His trip through Olympus was spent neither in a daze nor in desperate pursuit of a Titan, and Percy relished it. He certainly wasn't as much of a architectural nerd like Annabeth, or as interested in any kind of small talk like Piper or Leo might have attempted, but—it was _Olympus._

The last time he had been there, he'd been a little preoccupied with the whole Kronos-trying-to-destroy-it thing, and the time before that, the whole I'm-a-demigod-thing; last time, Olympus had looked more like actual Greek ruins than the paradise it was normally.

And he was, whether he liked it or not, a demigod who was a veteran of more than one godly war, and Olympus would be important. He was interested, sue him.

Also, the gargantuan fountain in front of one mansion made a part of him _sing,_ and it calmed him down more than little bit, to have that much water so close, catching the light. If Percy lingered just a little, sue him.

But more than once, he felt as if he were seeing double.

When he passed several merchants hawking their goods, regardless of whether it was ambrosia-on-a-stick, the latest edition of Hephaestus-TV, or a replica Golden Fleece, Percy had to stop and close to his eyes.

Regardless of whether it was for a moment, or if he reminded himself a million times it was just a vision, and hadn't happened, he still remembered. The stands all aflame, the bloodied bodies of nymphs, minor immortals, and satyrs. The mansions closer to the ruins dotting Greece rather than their usual gleaming selves.

He could do this. Totally.

Percy walked past a familiar statue of Hera, upright, proud, and sneering, and he was on his knees in a flash. _("Just **go** , Percy. Leave me." "Like hell I am, Thals.")_

His breathing harsh and heavy, as his ears strained for anything beyond the pleasant chatter of people living their lives, the burbling of water, the angry yells of Kronos— _("Brick by brick, I will **tear** Olympus down_ _—")_

Before his eyes, memories flashed, overlaying the peaceful utopia in front of him, of the injured being ferried, demigods, most barely old enough to drive, screaming, fighting, _dying_ —

Mansions had been burned. Statues knocked down. The dead lining the streets—

 _No, that's the war, not now, not **real**_ —

—found her still alive, but pinned under a piece of rock, and Pollux was screaming—

 _Thalia is fine. Luke is fine. Kronos is not here. Annabeth is fine. Grover is fine. Kronos is not here. **Everyone** is fucking **fine**_ _**—** _

It was possible Percy was not fine. Just a bit.

He wasn't aware of how much time passed, but his breathing became harsher, and the images flashed faster through his eyes, bloody images from the first war, then the second, bleeding together with his nightmares, until he couldn't tell what was real, memory, or his own fucking brain's cooking, and he just couldn't _breathe_ —

"Easy there, little brother. Just breathe _. . .breathe_. . .there. There is peace, no one is endangered, everyone is fine. _Breathe,_ Perseus. It is vital you do so."

A low male voice at first acting as static noise, then finally, an anchor, penetrated the amalgam of nightmare and memory, and Percy latched to it as an anchor, following the instructions.

_Breathe. In, and out. Breathe. As routine as the tide. Breathe._

An indeterminate of time later, Percy looked up as he finally felt oxygen reach his brain, his head clearing, only to find— _Triton?_

Triton was kneeling beside Percy, his eyes locked with Percy's own identical green ones, his face cycling through an unreadable mix of emotions, rather than its normal contortion of an arrogant sneer. Percy then opened his mouth, mostly with the intention of asking just why he was on Olympus, and not in Atlantis, somewhere on Earth, or pretty much _anywhere other than where he was right now_ , but then instead succumbed to a fit of coughing and hacking—a lovely leftover from Hades trying to kill him.

"Chaos and Ananke, you are a mess, Perseus."

"You—you _think?"_ Percy managed, before succumbing to a another hacking hit. He was so _cold._

"You need to get up, to finish your quest."

Percy would've rolled his eyes if he wasn't too busy trying to get his heart to cooperate with the whole _not having a fucking panic attack_ business. "You think I don't know that, Baywatch?"

_"Perseus."_

_"Triton."_

"Brat," Triton growled. "I cannot take the bolt to Uncle. It must be you, in order to prevent war between him and our father."

Percy groaned, "I know, ju—just gimme a mo'."

He rolled onto his side—and when did he _fall over?_ —and took a deep breath before pulling himself up onto his feet, with the surprising help of a steadying hand from Triton.

Percy exhaled, ignoring the protest of his muscles, and took the backpack containing the bolt from Triton.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Now that he had a clear head again, Percy could feel his face begin to burn with the embarrassment of essentially have a complete meltdown, in public, in front of his immortal half-brother who considered him little more than a waste of space.

He turned to make his way to the throne room, determined to preserve the last shred of his dignity he possessed, when Triton called out to him once more.

"Perseus."

Percy glanced back over his shoulder at Triton as he made his way past the damn statue of Hera, only to find his half-brother looking at him with an expression of—was that a hint of actual _worry_ on his face?

But before he could analyze it further, Triton wiped his face blank, and then gazed at Percy, looking as alien as he had ever seen just about any god, as inscrutable as—well, the sea.

"I. . .Good luck, little brother."

"Thanks," Percy said automatically, the manners his mom insisted on teaching him taking over.

Triton looked at him for a moment longer, and Percy was ready to call him out on his freaky staring when the god nodded once and suddenly disappeared.

No puff, whoosh of sea spray, snap of the fingers, none of the usual dramatics. As in, everything _every single god Percy had ever met_ used. It was unsettling, to say the least.

"Well, that was weird and not at all headache-inducing," Percy said to no one.

* * *

For a long moment, Zeus looked at Percy in the silent council room, his gaze that of someone viewing a particularly annoying ant they couldn't quite figure out the best way to smash into pulp. Or in his case, the best way to get away with electrocuting a demigod who wouldn't die when convenient to him.

It was comforting to know some things never changed.

Beside him, in the same Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt as Percy remembered, sat his father, his face unreadable; Percy wasn't quite sure how to deal with Poseidon.

He was inclined to look far more kindly on Percy than any other god right now, Percy knew that much. On the other hand, though, at this point in time, Poseidon wasn't entirely sure to deal with having a kid would potentially destroy Olympus in four years—and Percy couldn't really blame him.

He knelt in front of Poseidon anyway. "Father."

Percy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as Zeus glared at him. "Should you not address the master of this house first, _boy?"_

_Hey, I'll have you know I used to have my driver's license and saved the world and can tie my own shoes and everything.  
_

Poseidon sighed. "Peace, brother. I am his father."

At the far end of the thrones, beside Ares's empty seat, Dionysus grumbled. "As if that ever made much of a difference in this family. So the brat is yours, Poseidon. That just means he'll be even more of a pain in the neck than the rest of them."

Zeus ignored him, instead addressing Poseidon as Percy waited. "You claim him, then?"

"I have admitted my wrongdoing. Now hear him out."

Being described as "wrongdoing" shouldn't have hurt like it did. Regardless of appearances, he was still technically an adult, for gods' sakes. Percy had already gained his father's approval in the other timeline. He had other problems, like averting that small problem called the apocalypse.

Slightly problematic, that.

"I—" Percy broke off, yet another hacking fit taking over.

"Are you ill, boy? Speak." Zeus said sharply.

_This whole post-godly strangulation/panic attack/catching the weird chill on a plane thing is getting old._

"Ask your brother," Percy choked out, his brain-to-mouth filter on vacation.

Zeus raised a gray eyebrow and turned his heavy gaze to his brother beside him, who only looked mildly offended at the implications. Percy rolled his eyes. Last he checked, gods didn't try to kill their—waitaminute.

_Try again, stupid._

_Poseidon_ didn't try to kill his own children without an actual reason. As in, trying to destroy the world. Then again, they didn't really pay attention before that, either. Much. Actually, it seemed to just be a very complicated situation of absent parents who mostly didn't _want_ to be absent.

Percy really hated concussions.

"Try the other one," Percy said, and he knew his tone wasn't particularly respectful, and now Artemis _and_ Hera were glaring at him, that was fun (He _might_ have started to keep a running tally of how many gods he could piss off through disrespect), and it had been a very long week, and he didn't really drink the _I am a god, fear me and bow down_ Kool-Aid when he didn't have a concussion and was post-public panic attack anyway, alright?

Poseidon's eyes darkened at Percy's response. "You mean. . .Hades?"

And that was bad, there were implications there that Percy did not need right now, not when the air was still filled with tension thick enough for him to cut with Riptide. The point, last he checked, was not to incite another world war.

Percy shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "I might have provoked him—it had to do with the stolen Master Bolt."

"Regardless of any _provoking,_ if he harmed you—" Poseidon said, his green eyes stormy, gripping his trident.

But before his father could respond, Hermes sighed loudly, finally looking up from his phone. George and Martha, Percy noticed with interest, also chose to wake up, untangling themselves from his Caduceus. "As fascinating as this is to watch, some of us have places to be, Uncle. The kid is clearly fine. Let Father hear him out."

"Agreed," Athena chimed in, her stormy eyes, identical to Annabeth's, fixed on Percy. "I want to hear what he has to tell."

Zeus grumbled something Percy couldn't make out, before saying more loudly, "I will hear the boy, and then decide whether to cast him down from Olympus."

Poseidon glowered at his brother, clearly not happy at being overruled, but didn't say anything, the annoyance leaving his face as Percy began to speak.

From there, Percy told the council everything, like he had the first time around— _exactly_ everything from last time, that is. He made no mention of Bianca and Nico di Angelo, and eventually, only the briefest allusion to Luke's presence on the beach at Santa Monica.

He made no mention of who the lightning thief was.

At last, when he finished, as he brought out the bolt and set it at Zeus's feet before backing away. Zeus merely held out his hand, and the bolt flew into it, extending as it flew to its master, the ends sparking with electricity, until he held in his hand a twenty-foot long bolt of hissing white energy.

Percy could taste ozone on his tongue, and felt all his hairs stand on end.

"I sense he tells the truth about Ares," Zeus muttered. "Not a word, Aphrodite."

The goddess of love shut her mouth, gray eyes darting to her husband beside her worriedly.

"But, for him to do it. . .it is not in his usual nature," Zeus continued, perplexed.

"He is proud and impulsive," Poseidon offered.

Athena nodded reluctantly, her face quizzical. "It has a tendency to run the family, Father. Besides, the boy has no reason to tell a lie such as this if it were not true."

"I still say Johnson would be better off as a dolphin," Dionysus said with no small amount of petulance.

Poseidon's jaw tightened. "It is a good thing that is not your decision, then, nephew."

 _In other words,_ Percy thought, _if anyone's turning me into a dolphin, it certainly won't be **you**._

The fact it was so comforting probably said something really, really, bad about Percy's life.

But, he still had to throw one more thing out there.

"There's one more thing, Lord Zeus," Percy said carefully. "He didn't act alone."

"You accuse Lord Hades after all?" Zeus asked sharply.

Percy shook his head. "No, I've been in his presence. This was on the beach in Santa Monica, and felt different, somehow, during the fight. . .I felt something, or someone. All of us did. It felt—evil. Older than the gods, almost. Time literally slowed down. And in the Underworld, _something_ affected Tartarus—"

"Enough, boy," Zeus said firmly. His eyes darted to Poseidon, and the two had a low, furious discussion in Ancient Greek, with only the occasional quick interjection from someone else. This time, Percy was surprised to find he caught significantly more of the conversation than last time.

 _Is_ _—_ _—possible_ _—the_ —

 _No_ _—_ _—_ _—Father could not_ _—this_

 _—_ _—brother_ _—guard_ _—Father_ —

 _Father_ _—the boy_ _—_ _—danger_ —

At this, Poseidon barked something out in another language, one Percy didn't recognize. It sounded like Ancient Greek, with a few similarities to Latin, but rougher, somehow. Each word, seeming to carry their own power. Athena interjected what sounded like a suggestion in the same dialect, but Zeus cut her off. Poseidon began to say something angrily, but Zeus held up his hand. "We will not speak anymore of this. I must go to Lemnos to purify this bolt of the human taint. However, this conversation is closed, brother."

_Excuse you. I actually had a shower in the last twenty-four hours.  
_

Zeus rose and looked to Percy, and his steel gaze seemed to soften by a few degrees. "You have done me a great service today, Perseus Jackson, one few heroes could do. In return, I will spare your life."

"Thank you." Percy said, barely remembering to tack on a hasty "sir."

Poseidon's mouth quirked, while Zeus carried on, "Do not presume to fly again. Do not let me find you here again when I return. Otherwise, I will soon find reason to use this bolt."

As if on cue, eleven gods disappeared, all with their own signatures—Aphrodite left behind a pink mist and the scene of perfume, Apollo is a flash of golden light, Hera, in a peacock's screech, and Zeus, the most theatrical of them all, in a great flash of lightning and roll of thunder. Only Poseidon remained with Percy is the throne room. Silence reigned, disturbed only by the occasional crackle of flames.

"Dramatics," Poseidon sighed, "Have an unfortunate tendency to run in the family. I blame your uncle."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "And not you?"

Poseidon gave a brief smile at his impertinence, before shrinking down to the size of a regular man, approaching Percy. He stopped only when he was about four feet away.

"In the conversation you had with Uncle," Percy began slowly. He knew he might be pushing his luck here, but he knew he needed to try. "You mentioned—both you—your father, Kronos—"

At his name, much to Percy's annoyance, the room itself seemed to darken, the hearth becoming that much colder. _Should we just call him You-Know-Who?_ Percy thought annoyedly.

"Is it possible he's trying to return?" he asked.

Poseidon tightened his grip on his trident. "He has stirred from time to time across the eons, but never anything truly serious. Zeus has closed all discussion of Kronos."

"But is he," Percy insisted. "Because, at Santa Monica—"

"You have completed your quest, Perseus. He is not returning, and this matter does not concern you." Poseidon interrupted, his tone stern. Only in this case, 'stern' accompanied the hair on Percy's scalp standing on end, even as his annoyance rose and his headache returned.

_Di Immortales, not you too. Triton's bad enough._

Percy nodded. "A—Alright, then, sir." Six years, and he still felt like a child. "I'll just leave, and not bother you, then."

Which was a lie, really, considering what was coming up in the future, but, he couldn't really say anything else. Making his father annoyed wasn't exactly something that would prevent the apocalypse. Percy slung his backpack around his shoulder, and turned to leave the throne room.

"Perseus."

At his father's calling of his name, Percy immediately stopped, feeling rooted to his spot as he slowly turned around.

"Perseus," Poseidon repeated, his tone heavy with—something. Percy couldn't quite tell what. "Your mother—"

"What about her," Percy said suspiciously, feeling his metaphorical hackles rise.

Poseidon looked down at the floor, before turning his head back up to Percy. "She—I do not—You deserve to know. She was a queen among women, and I had not met someone such as her in a millennia. But you. . .I have given you a tragic fate, child. A hero's fate, and they are never happy. I am sorry you were born."

And for a part of him larger than he would like to admit, it still hurt, but Percy had already spent his time angsting over that like an idiot. "I don't mind, sir."

"But still," Poseidon said heavily, "I am sorry. You have done nothing to deserve it."

Percy nodded, before turning to leave in a way that wasn't fleeing, pausing only to give a brief smile to the brown-haired girl with red eyes stoking the flames of the Olympic hearth. Hestia smiled warmly.

* * *

When Percy opened the door to his apartment, he wondered, yet again, if he was hallucinating.

"Mom?" he rasped.

Sally Jackson gave him a tired, warm smile from behind the kitchen counter, which seemed oddly bare compared to his memories of after his first quest. Then, Percy took a good look around, as he realized something was missing—or specifically, someone and their trash.

The floor was clean, and looked to have been freshly vacuumed. There wasn't a soda can, half-completed poker game, or beer bottle in sight. None of Smelly Gabe's poker buddies to be found, either.

His mom's smile took on a rather wicked edge. "I received a letter from a lovely girl, claiming she was a friend of yours—Annabeth, I believe—warning me of a potentially, er, problematic package that would potentially be returned here."

A brief pause. "I was incredibly busy for a few days, and simply insisted Gabe had to get the mail. He wasn't particularly fond of it for the first two days. Neither were his friends, either."

Percy wasn't quite sure what to say to that, except—"Oh. You're—you're f-fine then, M-Mom?"

His mom laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Oh, indeed. You and your father—I can take care of myself, you know. Come here, sweetheart."

She opened her arms, and it was the greatest thing Percy had seen since—he couldn't remember, actually. The last time he had seen his mom had been before Hera had decided to fuck him over, over a fucking _year_ ago, and well, it had been one thing after another from there. He'd missed her, and Paul, with a yearning most eighteen-year-old boys would considered embarrassing.

But—he _loved_ his mom, regarded her as the most fantastic people he'd ever met, and anyone who thought it was funny or weird could take it up with the business end of Riptide. Percy hurled himself at his mother with abandon in a way he hadn't done in _years,_ ignoring savoring the warmth and inherent whisper of _safe_ in her arms. _This, just_ _—please, give me this, for as long as possible. **Please.**_

He had no clue whom he was asking—or, yes, begging, he didn't care - but. . .

His family, the one _he,_ eighteen-year-old Percy Jackson had grown up with, and had known, had died beside on the hills of the Acropolis, was just about _gone,_ permanently changed by whatever he did, with different memories, beliefs, allies—opinions of _him._ There was a very good chance that the Seven would never meet up and become as close as they had before if he was successful, of the bonds that had held together Camp Half-Blood through the second war with the Titans, _gone._

The phrase "from ashes to ashes" never held so much double fucking meaning; his English teachers would be so proud.

Depressing stuff, Percy thought with no small amount of hysteria.

Except—

 _Except,_ and Percy was so grateful for this, loved the exceptions, lived the exceptions, _thrived_ off of exceptions—

His mom was still there. Still giving him the same smile of _oh-thank-any-god-listening-you're-home-and-safe-it'll-be- **fine.**_ Still loving him unconditionally, though only Aphrodite knew why. Still gave him the same fierce, all-encompassing, hugs. It had certainly been years since she'd been taller than him.

Percy was home, for however short a period of time. And he would greedily take it for all it was worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Fun fact about the scene in the Olympian throne room: I wrote the scene with all the other gods thinking it still stuck pretty close to canon, then re-read The Lightning Thief and realized it originally only had Zeus and Poseidon there in canon, and no immortal peanut gallery.
> 
> Then, I decided my way was cooler anyway, and probably in-character. Gods are nosy.


	10. The Three-Formed and the Fourth Age, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, and mentions of PTSD. Though, honestly, this entire chapter is pretty much me torturing Percy emotionally, so fair warning.

_"Betrayal leaves us at a fork in the road... We can become stuck in a bad moment forever, or we can put it behind us for good. We decide our path."_

_-Camila Harra_

* * *

The silence was driving Percy mad.

It didn't matter where he was, what he was doing, the time of day. In the two weeks since he, Annabeth, Grover, Luke, and the di Angelos had come back from the quest, he'd be doing something, washing the dishes, sparring, _anything,_ and he'd just suddenly—freeze, waiting for another shoe to drop.

His reflexes, ingrained after years of fighting, were waiting for an attack that never came.

Normally, Percy was grateful for it; his ADHD had saved his life more times than _Annabeth,_ and that was saying quite a lot. But, when the attack never came, and Percy was _constantly_ on edge, to the point that he could never sleep?

Then he began to think wistfully of the good ol' days where nothing short of Gabe pounding down his door could wake him up.

Everything was _too_ quiet, and it was leaving what was left of Percy's nerves as nonexistent frayed threads. _("Your nerves, Beauregard? She sounds like an agony aunt_ —" _"That agony aunt can kick your ass, newbie.")_

After Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter, with the constant yelling, fighting, training, and explosions, after _Tartarus,_ which had never failed to provide plenty of howling and screaming, after the _Argo,_ where there had been the loud hum of the engines and general insanity that came from a bunch of demigods with questionable amounts of common sense living together, Percy was used to always being on alert, always _listening,_ trying to pick out the danger _;_ the bangs and crashes that used to be crushingly loud became white noise that allowed Percy and the rest of them to sleep.

The general noise had meant they were still alive, were still fine.

Now, Percy was left trying to decipher silence.

It was only in the silence that they had become alert then; usually, it had meant someone was dead, or about to be, if they didn't do something. Noise was _safe._

But, in New York, there was just. . .traffic.

The cars rushing by the new-old apartment—eerily, his mom had bought the same place as last time with the money from her "art"—while Camp Half-Blood only had the occasional explosion and yelling.

Normally, it came from the general direction of the forges or the Ares cabin, someone threatening the continued existence of the Hermes cabin, or both; other than that, there was next to nothing to disturb a camp that was, surprisingly, normally pretty peaceful outside of Certain Events—Clarisse was still giving him crap over Lamer the First in this timeline, and was swearing to murder him in the next game of Capture the Flag; it was pretty comforting.

The poisoning of Thalia's tree wasn't due for at least another two months, and the barriers were still intact.

So, camp was quiet, relatively speaking—especially if you were the only child of a god, and had their own cabin, or if you had at least a couple months' experience as a claimed camper.

And Percy was one of the most experienced campers there—even if he was the only one who knew _that_

Thankfully, this meant he was the only one aware of the existences of certain hard-to-explain things like the entrance to the Labyrinth, somewhere he'd asked Juniper to keep an eye on, or Bunker Nine, which had taken a little more doing in finding, considering Percy only had his memory of Leo's stories to back him on that one. Once there, he'd had plenty to keep busy.

Percy had started to clear things up, managing to find what he was pretty sure were the plans for the _Argo II._ He had no intention of actual cleaning, but he needed to make sure that everything would stay intact until Leo came to camp, Festus was re-discovered, or if they needed to go back to Greece. Whichever came first.

Or, as Percy had realized, he could just tell Cabin Nine, and make it not his problem.

Now, he had to figure out how to let Beckendorf and his siblings know without the whole suspicious-demigod-that-knows-too-much-schtick that had seemed to become his thing. He was still working on that.

It had been a bit inconvenient; Annabeth had quit giving him the evil eye once he had gotten back from Olympus, and their relationship had thawed all the way from glacial to lukewarm _._

But, he had begun to catch the rest of the Athena cabin giving him looks stretching from the scientifically curious to outright hostile now, and none of them would speak with him outside of Annabeth's clipped responses as Nico followed him around; to make things worse, Luke still had it in his head that Percy needed looking after. He was his own demigod-man, dammit!

. . .Who was technically twelve.

This did have one small drawback, though. Well, two, you believed Bianca or Luke, but they were already neurotically worried about other things anyway, so Percy usually could dodge that.

After hours of working by himself, (The second issue wasn't even an issue, his nightmares were just nightmares, he could take care of himself, and was _fine—),_ Percy was a little bit jumpy, _sometimes._

Falling under the category of "Never Speaking Of This _(Ever)"_ Percy's jump-scares since coming back from the quest was resting at an impressive five times, if he did say so himself. And he didn't, because that would mean thinking about why this was happening. He was fine, if a little shaken after everything. He just needed a little time.

Thankfully, the only casualty or witness had been a particularly fat pigeon that Percy had been having doubts about anyway. Something about the look in its beady eyes had reminded him of Leroy.

The point was, despite being more than a little beaten up, Percy was _fine._

He just needed a little time and rest, and he'd be back in to his usual self.

He would get it, switching between his mom's new apartment and camp; while a departure from last time, Percy was managing it alright as he persuaded his mom to get him registered at Goode High School; at camp, he trained as hard as he could get away with, and did his best to keep an eye on Nico and Bianca (They had looked rather startled when Mr. D had declared, "Yes, yes, Johnson didn't get himself killed and will now grow an ego to rival his father's. Huzzah for the brat and his little idiot friends," but they'd adapted rather quickly to the habit of calling them Bridget and Nathan Devereaux.

In fact, they'd taken to camp rather well. Cabin Eleven had given them a warm, if grudging welcome, and Percy had been happy to see Nico and Will Solace sticking together, while Bianca had cautiously befriended whoever suited her, including but not limited to _Drew Tanaka_ of all people, who was as sharp as ever. Never let it be said he understood girls.)

Percy didn't have time to really worry about anything else anyway; Nico and Bianca needed training _last year,_ half the prophecy the Oracle had given him for the quest had yet to come true, and everyone was still acting weird, particularly Luke—which, at this point, was nothing new—and Chiron.

The centaur, Percy suspected, had an inkling of just who the di Angelos' godly parent was, but hadn't said anything so far, thankfully.

Though, the fact that Percy had done a rather good job at keeping them away from Mr. D might have had something to do with it. No one was quite sure if he could smell out other Olympians on half-bloods (if so, _gross)_ or just had a knack for figuring it out, but he was intimidatingly good at figuring out godly parents when he put himself up to it. Which, thankfully, was very rare.

 _No one_ wanted another Big Three demigod on the scene, let alone two children of Hades. Hell, _Percy_ didn't want another Big Three demigod around, and he was planning to bring Thalia back in the next six months.

Without outright claiming or a confirmation from the resident Olympian, Percy could train them to a certain extent in peace, pretending they had a far safer heritage than in reality.

In the mean time, Percy had to work out how to help Nico and Bianca learn control of their powers. Unfortunately, there were only so many ways he could go around it. First, he tried the obvious, if slightly painful route in early July.

Multiple times, all with the same level of frustrating failure. Because his immortal, non-Cyclops brother (He _missed_ Tyson, more than ever) delighted in make Percy's life _ten times harder than it needed to be._

"I know you're listening, Baywatch!" Percy yelled futilely at the waves."You're not the only one who eavesdrops from the ocean in this family, you know!"

Which probably wasn't the smartest idea around, considering, _hello,_ Poseidon, god of the sea, but Triton was being an idiot, and Percy was utterly done with him.

Two weeks and a dozen attempts later,—after having a ten-minute rant on the beach about immortal jerks who were never there when they could actually be _useful,_ and what the Hades had been that nonsense on Olympus anyway, leaving without a word when he could've been helpful?—Percy had to come up with another plan.

He was beginning to sound like his mother—not that it would have been a bad thing, his mother was wonderful, but Percy was still barely eighteen _—_ and would have to teach Bianca and Nico himself.

* * *

It was a dark and starry night when Percy blackmailed the Stolls into helping him smuggle Bianca and Nico out of Cabin Eleven.

In the old timeline, this would have been a terrible idea on several levels, not least of which that fact that they were very much their father's children, and both at least a full year older than Percy.

In the new timeline, this was a slightly less terrible idea, as Percy knew all of their tricks at this age, and Connor had lost a bet with him two years back _("Stupid sea spawn and their stupid cheating powers_ —" " _Said the son of Hermes." "—Fair enough.")._

As a result, Percy was currently _very_ much aware of who was responsible for the Golden Mango prank, and how.

But the Aphrodite cabin in this timeline wasn't.

Travis and Connor had been terrified that someone else knew, so agreed to help him get them out, thankfully not asking what Percy wanted with two unclaimed demigod children in the middle of the night, _(And, oh gods, that sounded—_ ** _gah)_**.

That hadn't stopped Percy from pretending to take the di Angelos to the forge before ensuring the Stolls had gone back to Cabin Eleven.

It was only paranoia if they weren't out to get you, after all.

"Right," Percy began, as they stood at the edge of the woods, behind the lava climbing wall. "First things first, you can't tell anyone about this."

Nico opened his mouth, and Bianca fondly rolled her eyes as Percy headed Nico's inevitable question off.

"You can't tell Will, Nico."

Nico began to pout. "Why _not,_ Percy?"

"Because," Percy explained patiently, "He'll ask why I'm training you at one in the morning, dodging patrols and your counselor. And then, unless he promises not to tell anyone—"

Of which there was no chance of happening; Will Solace worshiped the ground Lee Fletcher walked on, and wouldn't dream of not telling his counselor at this age. Percy couldn't blame him, Lee was awesome; just, Lee would then tell _Chiron,_ and get really passive-aggressive with Percy, and his life was complicated enough right now.

"—I would have to explain to Chiron why I'm helping two children of Hades barely younger than I am how to summon glowing skeletons, something I don't have a decent excuse for, yet."

Somehow, Percy just knew "I came back from the future where Kronos almost killed everyone, and then Gaia came along and actually did", wouldn't go over too well with Chiron or Mr. D.

Nico's face twisted at the mention of Luke, but he reluctantly nodded at Percy's explanation. Percy sighed, and shared a commiserating look with an amused Bianca.

At this point, Percy was more or less convinced Luke had actually offended Nico in a previous life or something, because they did not get along. _At all._

Percy would have thought it was hilarious if it weren't for the fact that every time he was in the same room as the two of them, Nico acted as if Percy needed a protective barrier between him and Luke, practically growling at the son of Hermes whenever he came too close; the son of Hermes just looked guilty whenever it happened.

According to Annabeth, when he _wasn't_ around, Nico and Luke ignored each other's existence. She wasn't too sorry about it, either. She was still wrestling over the whole Luke-pretty-much-sold-out-Western-civilization-then-changed-his-mind-thing. But she still turned red whenever Luke paid her a compliment on her knife-fighting.

Percy would _never_ understand girls. Or maybe just Annabeth.

He had asked Nico about it, once. Nico had turned red, looked at his shoes, and muttered an apology. Percy had told him he had nothing to apologize for, and to just stop treating Luke like the enemy, which had at least resulted in less actual aggression, if not Nico and Luke working out their issues.

Actually, it was probably for the best Percy had the talk with Nico _before_ starting to teach him how to raise said glowing skeletons. At that thought, the memory of Minos re-surfaced, which Percy shoved down with mixed success.

"Right, so this is where this gets interesting, considering I'm a son of Poseidon, and you're children of Hades. I'll be making some of this up as I go," Percy confessed. He had listened to Nico in the previously timeline describe what it was like to use his powers, but he knew better to presume it would replace real experience.

"Well, how are you going to teach us?" Bianca asked, her head tilted to the side.

"By telling you what _I_ know, how I started using my powers, and pretty sure is universal for demigods like us," Percy said as he walked over to lean against an oak tree.

Bianca's eyes narrowed. "Such as?"

"Well," Percy drawled, "Listen to your gut, for one. Nico, I think has already tried this. Remember when we were in the Underworld, and you—"

"That was _me?"_ Nico said incredulously. _"I_ made the ground shake?"

"It certainly wasn't Hades, and I was out of it. There's somewhere, here," Percy said, waving in the general direction of his stomach and intestines, "That I usually feel a tugging in whenever I manipulate water. I think you have a similar feeling whenever you do something. A lot of it is linked to your emotions as well—I didn't realize I could do anything until I lost my temper for the first time at camp."

Bianca's face was thoughtful, and she nodded with Nico in agreement, before her brother frowned, saying, "But, what can we actually do? I barely made the ground move _then._ You're barely older than me and you can explode plumbing and make _tidal waves!_ Your powers are so cool, and I can't do _anything."_

"First off, I've had a ton of practice," Percy said, amused, "You'll get it too. Second, I've seen—I know children of Hades can do quite a lot. More than me, if you're powerful enough."

At least where armies of the dead were concerned. He, Percy thought childishly, held the monopoly on hurricanes.

Nico simply gave Percy an unimpressed look. Bianca, displaying her tact, simply said, "I think you will need to be more specific, Percy."

"Okay, then. Well, for starters, you'll be able to create a proper earthquake, raise big spikes of obsidian, and temporarily raise and talk to the dead, as well shadow travel—teleport, basically. Those are the big ones I know, and some of it comes down to how creative you can get. But, Nico," Percy continued in a deadpan tone. Nico's eyes widened and were locked on Percy as he paused dramatically.

"I'm afraid there's only one Lord of the Plumbing here."

Percy cracked halfway through the sentence, and Bianca was snickering as Nico's jaw dropped, a look of mild betrayal appearing on his face. Eventually he joined in on the laughter as Bianca began to snort, and Percy continued to chuckle.

Eventually, he sobered. There was one big reason, in addition to the smaller ones, that he had brought the di Angelos out tonight. He needed to tell them.

"But, and this is _incredibly_ important, more so than learning how to create earthquakes or talk to the dead," Percy said, his voice grave. "You have to, I don't know, promise me, cross your heart and hope to die, that you won't. . .let yourself down, or lose yourself when using your powers. We are Big Three demigods, and more powerful than any of the others. Do you understand what that means?"

"We need the control for battle," Bianca said quietly.

Percy nodded. "Exactly. We _have_ to be better, because otherwise, if we lose control, people will die. It's not an 'if' or 'maybe'. People _have_ died. Greek myths have so many idiots who throw temper tantrums, and people die because of it. Be better than them. You _have_ to be, promise me."

"I promise, Percy," Nico said quietly, his eyes wide and scared, but not looking away from Percy.

"So do I," Bianca added, looking very young.

Percy sighed, looking at his feet. "With great power. . .great responsibility comes with it, I suppose."

And now, Percy finally understood why the line from the Spiderman comics was so popular to quote. It was terrifyingly true. He'd probably scared the wits out of Bianca and Nico tonight. He wished he could take it back, call it all a joke, tell them to go to sleep, that their days at camp would always be fun, warm, and painless.

But. . .he couldn't.

It would have been, Percy knew, _very_ easy for Kronos to convince Nico to join him if one or two things had happened differently. It didn't make him closer to evil or anything stupid like that. It just meant Nico had spent too much of life alone and hurting.

So, Percy would protect him and Bianca to preserve the void, tell them what their father wouldn't. That they were loved. That they deserved more than bitterness and pain, that it would be their greatest danger.

The memories of the Ghost King, of Akhlys _("Percy. . .stop.")_ , would haunt Percy for a long time.

"I'm sorry for pressing this," Percy told them, "But, it's a very real chance that if we mess up, if I mess up, you could die, and I couldn't. . .I don't know what I would do."

Bianca took a step closer, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. "We understand, _mio amico."_

"We'd miss you, too," Nico said earnestly, his dark eyes worried. "So you have to be careful too."

Percy gave a soft smile at the sight of a guileless Nico di Angelo smiling, before standing up straight again.

"I'll remember. Now, before I smuggle both you back, to Cabin Eleven, I wanted to take you through a few breathing exercises. They'll be useful for when you're truly sparring with someone as well as keeping your earthquakes and armies of the dead under control."

"Would that make me General Nico of the Underworld?" Nico asked, fascinated.

All it took was one shared look with Bianca before Percy burst out into unrestrained laughter.

* * *

"Will Solace told me an interesting story last night, Percy," Lee Fletcher said lightly as he twirled a single arrow between his fingers.

Percy leaned back in his green comfy chair. "Really? Did it have a happy ending?"

It had been two and a half weeks since the first time Percy had started working with Nico and Bianca, and was at the July monthly counselors' meeting—not to mention, Percy's first in this timeline—in the Big House. As the only child of Poseidon—albeit, one who was physically twelve—Percy was required to attend.

It was a large meeting, with everyone in attendance. This led to the usual chaos.

Clarisse had pissed half the counselors there off within the first ten minutes, and Katie Gardner was plotting an expansion in the strawberry fields with Castor, while Nestor from Cabin Six was working his way through the _Aeneid_ in Latin. Luke, accompanied by Travis and Connor due to Cabin Eleven's size, was quiet, when not keeping the peace between the Stolls and Silena Beauregard, who had last week found out who had been responsible for the Gold Mango prank.

 _Not_ through Percy, thanks very much. He took his blackmail seriously.

Despite revenge being taken, arguments were still being re-hashed.

"I still can't believe you had the stupidity to do that! What, did you _really_ think you would get away with it?"

"Well, yes. Your cabin was throwing Gucci shoes out windows, Silena, and ready to tear each other apart, never mind find who did it. It was hilarious, and we were sure it wouldn't end."

"Then this is your own fault for thinking we're really that shallow."

"But, Silena. You're right, we're stupid, Cabin Ten is the best, blah blah blah, but, are the shrinking clothes really necessary? I can barely use the bathroom these days, and our fashion senses aren't that bad, right, Connor?"

"I don't see any difference between then and now. You look the same."

"What?!"

"It's not _my_ fault you're convinced orange plaid is anything other than vomit-inducing. Honestly, _Hermes children._ "

Speaking over Travis's shriek of indignation, Lee replied to Percy, "Will told me you were smuggling campers out of Cabin Eleven to train with them at night. Specifically, the di Angelos."

_Damn it, Nico._

Unfortunately, because the universe loved to watch Percy explain things that looked really bad, it was at the precise moment Lee began to talk that Chiron called order for the meeting.

So, of course, everyone heard.

"That's not funny, Lee," Luke said, breaking the awkward silence. Everyone stared at Percy.

Lee shrugged. "I didn't mean it to be, Luke. I'm only saying what Will Solace told me, and in my experience, he doesn't lie."

Chiron watched this exchange with a neutral expression as Percy's swearing in his mind became more creative. He turned to the son of Poseidon.

"Percy?" he asked gently. "Do you want to explain?"

Percy sighed. Outside of fights, he really was not that good of a liar. "You believe him, then?"

"Yes, I do."

Percy nodded. "Fine, then."

He looked at Luke. "I'm sorry, Luke. I did."

"Why?" Luke's face was unreadable, and Percy hated it.

Nestor, the seventeen-year-old Athena counselor, studied Percy closely. "It's because of their parents."

"Well, yes, nerd boy," Clarisse said irritably, "We all kind of figured that out ourselves. It certainly wasn't their sparkling personalities. The girl nearly shot me in the shoulder the other day on accident."

It actually hadn't been much of an accident, Percy knew, but he certainly wasn't going to tell Clarisse. Bianca was a crack shot in any timeline.

"I didn't know," Connor said cheerfully, "Wait, are they _also_ Poseidon's kids? Geez, don't we have enough Big Three mucking up the place already?"

Nestor shook his head, as he continued to study Percy with an uncomfortably piercing look, before his eyes widened, bright against his dark skin. "Wait, they're—you've _got_ to be kidding me. Really, Jackson? Are you _that_ arrogant enough, to think that Big Th—"

"Nestor, enough," Chiron said sharply. "Percy, would you mind explaining why you were taking two unclaimed demigods out to train by the woods?"

"I wasn't aware that it was your business," Percy said, as sullenly as if Chiron were a school principal and Percy had set the gym on fire again. Old habits died hard, and Chiron had been Mr. Brunner to Percy before he had been Chiron the legendary centaur.

"It very much _is_ my business when you're breaking curfew, Percy," Chiron said gently, "I believe you did it with the best of intentions, but this isn't exactly your typical summer camp, and Thalia's tree can only do so much. Bianca and Nico are untrained, and incredibly young, as are you."

"Just a minute," Clarisse interrupted suspiciously before Percy went off on Chiron, "I thought Idiot Two there was joking a minute ago, but are the two newbies we're talking about _actually_ Big Three?"

Chiron fixed Clarisse with a disbelieving stare. "Clarisse, what would the odds be of one powerful demigod that is a child of one of the Big Three finding one, much less two other demigods halfway across the country, and bringing them back to camp safely, while on a quest? Then, please tell me the odds if those two demigods are powerful at all, much less Big Three? I believe Nestor could calculate it for you."

"I could," Nestor chimed in, looking dubious of his earlier claims himself, "It wouldn't be hard. It's a very tiny number."

"Shut up," Clarisse growled, "I can figure it out myself."

"Would it really matter that much if they _were_ Big Three?" Percy asked pleadingly.

Katie Gardner shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yes. What with the Great Prophecy and all, we need to make sure that they're not a danger to the camp or Olympus. These are our _lives_ we're talking about here, Percy. Western Civilization itself. We can't take chances."

Luke still wasn't looking at Percy. The rest of the counselors were either looking torn, or nodding in agreement with Katie.

"Wait, do you—Do you all really think—? Never mind, of course you do," Percy said angrily, "It all comes down to the damn prophecy, doesn't it. Not what any of us think or feel."

He stood up suddenly, and stalked out of the room. No one called him back.

* * *

Percy was hacking apart the dummies in the arena with surgeon-like precision when Luke found him.

"Hey, kid."

"Come to yell at me too?" Percy asked warily. He sheathed Riptide, and noted the unfamiliar sword hanging at Luke's hip.

The son of Hermes snorted derisively. "No, you were telling the truth back there. They just didn't want to hear it."

"Then why didn't _you_ speak up?" Percy accused.

Luke shrugged. "No point. It's been said to them before, and they either won't listen or can't do anything."

Percy scoffed. Luke gave him a rueful smile. "You think you're the first one to lash out against the Great Prophecy? Ever since Thalia was turned into a pine tree, the fucking thing has been the bane of my existence. I don't blame you for getting angry, kid."

"It doesn't mean I can't still be angry," Percy muttered, "Just, what were they _thinking_ —"

"They were thinking the first son of Poseidon to be born since World War Two has been acting like he's got something to hide since the moment he woke up in the Big House," Luke said not unkindly. "And, at least in Chiron's case—did you see the way he headed them all off when Clarisse was talking?—that his new Italian friends have a rather striking resemblance a certain god of the Underworld, I'd bet money on it. They certainly share nothing with you and Thalia beyond the hair. You're lucky Annabeth wasn't there; Nestor's a genius, but he's better off analyzing numbers than people."

Percy looked at Luke in shock; Luke's smile turned into a smirk. "Didn't expect that from a son of Hermes?"

"No," Percy managed. "You're right about them. And I should have."

He had learned a long time ago not to underestimate Luke in _anything._ Now, he just had to decide what to do about it. Luckily, Luke only chuckled as Percy's face became more wary. "Don't worry, kid. I won't tell anyone anything about them, not until you tell me to."

Percy raised an eyebrow. Luke clapped Percy on the shoulder, and slipped his arms across it, tilting his head down to talked to a much shorter Percy.

Percy had forgotten how tall in relation to his twelve-year-old self Luke had been.

He'd looked so much shorter, by the end.

"Besides," Luke added, "I rather like the di Angelos. Hard to dislike anyone who can spook Clarisse like that, or someone unrelated who thinks Hermes is cool. Now, what do you say we go down to the woods, one last time, look for something to fight?

It took a moment for Percy to place why those words were so familiar, in the aftermath of such a surge of trust and relief, but once they did, he felt a chill go down his spine.

It was, word for word, exactly what Luke had said last time, on the last day of camp—right before he had tried to kill Percy, and revealed the truth.

_Please, not again._

"Sure," Percy choked out a minute later, forcing a smile back on his face. "Why not?"

Luke's smile widened, bright and genuine. "Great, I've got a new toy that I've been wanting to try out."

Percy's stomach dropped, and he braced himself for Luke to pull Backbiter out of his sheath. It was happening again, and, somehow, Percy _couldn't stop it, and why did it hurt so much more this time?_

"Beckendorf called it Oathseeker," Luke explained, as he pulled an unfamiliar sword out, "All Celestial Bronze, of course. I never really felt comfortable with my last one, and when I went by the forges, Beckendorf insisted I try this one. It was love at first sight, Percy. He's _beautiful._ "

Percy was going to fucking kill Luke Castellan.

He would kill him with his lovely new sword named Oathseeker.

He was going to kill Luke Castellan for making him convinced the apocalypse was going to happen exactly like it last time, no matter what Percy did, and then doing something else.

Of course, Percy reasoned, it may _still_ happen.

But it would happen differently. Hopefully, with an alive Luke Castellan fighting on their side, inside of acting as a puppet of Kronos.

Regardless, Percy's relaxed demeanor as he and Luke went into the woods was mostly genuine.

They gave it their best effort, but between the sun beating down on them and lack of a breeze—Thalia had possessed a knack for creating one out of nothing, Percy remembered _("The next time you ask for another wind, Kelp Head, I am going to punt you to the Bering Strait and demand a tropical storm out of you.")—_ the most their best effort netted was a giant-sized wasp that Percy had very gleefully cut down.

Eventually, they settled by a shady spot close to the creek where, in the previous timeline, Thalia and Percy had fought it out.

The most exertion he and Luke found there for a while was watching Apollo drive his chariot across the sky in the comfortable silence as they leaned against the same tree, its leaves large and a vibrant dark green, the branches settled barely above Luke's head. In the sun, it had been a bit too warm, but in their shade, they were on the right side of warm and humid.

There were no Cokes this time.

Percy felt. . .warm, and content. It was a strange feeling. He felt like he could used to it, and wondered if this was what Camp Half-Blood had been meant to be for him, the first time around.

After a while, when the sunlight had begun to take on a bronze tinge, and after Percy realized he'd almost _fallen asleep—_ what the hell, he shouldn't have been _that_ comfortable _—_ Luke broke the silence.

"You still there, Perce?" he asked, his tone mildly groggy. Startled, Percy looked over at Luke, and realized that the son of Hermes might have actually fallen asleep.

This day was getting weirder by the minute.

"Yeah," Percy said quietly, "Still here, Luke."

Luke turned to face Percy. "Do you miss it, the quest?"

"What, with monsters attacking me every time I breathed too heavily?"

"Yeah, that."

". . .Yeah," Percy admitted after a long moment of silence. "Did you ever feel the same, after yours?"

Luke nodded slowly, suddenly seeming much older. "You're not the same, after it. I mean, I had the one quest, and then they told me, 'have a nice life'. And I. . .I was so incredibly mad, Percy. I had hated every minute of that stupid quest, but when I got back to camp, all I wanted was to be given another, and head back out into the real world. It was awful. I still can't bear to think of the fighting Ladon in the Hesperides' garden without being scared and angry all over again, but I almost want to go back."

The son of Hermes and Percy didn't say anything, for a while, before opening his mouth again.

"Y'know, it's weird to be home, now. After all of it," Percy said thoughtfully. "Sometimes it sucks. I mean, there were one or two cool moments. But, most of it was terrifying, Luke. I was convinced I was going to die more than once, and all I could think was, 'What about my mom?' She was the entire reason I had agreed to go on the quest in the first place."

She still had been the second time around, if Percy was honest about himself. Obviously, there had been the Master Bolt to deal with, but. . . _his mom._ You didn't take his mom and not expect him to take off like a madman after her. Simple. End of story.

She'd made his life bearable, countless times with Gabe, and after he went to camp as well. Also, she always knew when to make blue cookies.

She was awesome like that.

"It's weird back here, now, but not in a bad way, honestly. It has its not-so-fun bits. . .but I could get used this. Stuff like this isn't so bad. I'd like to do more of it. You and me, and a giant wasp once in a while." Percy mused, feeling rather silly as he said it.

"I could think of worse things," Luke said laughingly. "Though maybe not a wasp. How about an ant? No wings."

At that, both demigods burst into laughter, finding the joke far funnier than it probably really was. Percy didn't particularly care. Eventually, they settled back down to their previous lazy states, their swords still laid out beside them, this time with slightly stronger smiles.

Finally, Luke turned serious, pulling himself upright to face Percy. Percy sat up, beginning to frown, masking the roots of panic gripping his heart like a vise.

"Listen, Percy, I have to tell you, I actually came out here with you for a reason."

"Which is?"

Luke took a deep breath, then gave a forceful sigh. "I'm leaving Camp Half-Blood. End of this summer, I'm planning to go to college, take Oathseeker with me for monsters, and not come back."

"W-What? You can't leave!" Percy said reflexively, before realizing, _yes,_ Luke very much could, and had done it before. "Why?"

At least Percy couldn't see any Pit Scorpions this time.

"I. . .I just can't do this anymore," Luke explained tiredly, "The lies on both side, the constant feeling of being manipulated, always fighting. I'm _done._ Plus, with you around, it's clear the fucking prophecy's about to come into play, and I can't watch that happen, one way or another."

Percy would have felt touched about the implications of that if he weren't so confused. "Wait, so you're _not_ going to Kronos _—"_

"What? No, have you lost your mind? I know _I_ haven't," Luke declared. Percy almost collapsed from relief. Luke wouldn't turn; at least, not any time soon.

"I just want to make my own way, without gods and titans trying to use me and make me _pledge my allegiance,"_ Luke sneered, "It's not like I attract a ton of monsters by myself anyway. I'll be fine, kid."

But there was still another nagging question that needed to be answered. "But, if you're leaving, why'd you bring _me_ out here in the first place?"

Luke rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly."Well, I actually wanted to ask you if—"

But before Luke could finish, the shadows themselves, the ones Percy and Luke had just spent ages languishing in, seemed to pool together at their feet, rising up to form a dark figure.

Luke and Percy sprang to their feet, swords in their hands.

"What the hell are you?" Luke demanded.

Another demigod stepped out of the shadows, dressed in full battle armor.

It took Percy a minute to place the demigod, but once he did, the son of Poseidon had to fight the urge to curse out loud. The sixteen-year-old demigod in front of them was Alabaster Torrington: one of Kronos's generals, second only to Luke, and later on, Ethan Nakamura, as well as one of the few sons of. . .well.

Percy was just glad _she_ wasn't here right now. Her children were tricky enough to fight without divine retribution.

"Castellan," Alabaster said imperiously, "It's time. You must travel with me to Othrys."

Luke set his jaw and raised his sword. "I'm not going, Alabaster. I'm done with this."

Percy waited for the other demigod to grow angry, but instead, Alabaster only sneered. "Not surprising, considering our master never really trusted you. Not after the sea brat showed up, ruining his plans—"

"I'll have you know the sea brat can hear you, thank you very much, and would like to tell you you're wrong," Percy said, affronted. "I ruin the plans of lunatics trying to take over the world on purpose."

Both of the other two demigods ignored him. Luke's face twisted in disgust. "He's not my master, and never will be again."

"Trying to worm your way back into being Olympus's lapdog, then?" Alabaster mocked.

"Like hell I am," Luke scoffed, "I just want to be able to live my life without gods and titans trying to treat me like a pawn."

Alabaster snarled. "You're nothing but a worthless traitor, Castellan. Are you really stupid enough to think they'll just accept you back now? That the gods, in their _infinite_ wisdom, will just let you be, after what you've done? You will be an outlaw, _caput lupinum._ "

"Πηγαίνετε στον Τάρταρο με τον δάσκαλό σας, εσείς το γκρεμό." Luke growled. Percy raised his eyebrows at the curse, his mind automatically splitting in two as Alabaster went white; while what he'd told Alabaster was pretty harmless, on the whole, in English, it had rather. . .interesting implications in Greek. Percy wasn't quite sure he wished Tartarus on many people these days.

Not that Percy was complaining about the possibility of him going to hell. New timeline or no, it pretty hard to separate the demigod in front of him from the person responsible for coordinating Kronos's side for the Battle of Manhattan.

"Do you really think you can defeat both of us, for whatever it is you want?" Percy challenged then. "Luke's the best swordsman in three hundred years, and I'm a son of Poseidon. You're on _camp grounds,_ for crying out loud."

Alabaster smirked and shook his head. "Oh, no, not me. I don't plan to stop you. Mother."

Percy swore under his breath, while Luke just looked at him blankly. "Mother? Who's your godly parent?"

"That would be me, son of Hermes," a feminine voice purred.

Percy whirled around, and was promptly shoved behind Luke as he stepped forward, Oathseeker in hand. Percy scowled at Luke's back—he wasn't really twelve, dammit—and shifted his grip on Riptide.

 _That pit scorpion's looking awfully friendly right now,_ Percy thought ruefully, as Hecate, goddess of magic stepped forward.

A feline grin was affixed to her pale face, and in her hands, she held two blazing torches, bright against her dark robes.

"I am Lady Hecate of the Mist, goddess of magic, ghosts and the night, ruler of the crossroads, she of three forms," she declared softly. She glided forward, and for a moment, Percy thought he was seeing triple before she stopped.

"Wait," he muttered. "Three forms?"

The prophecy given to him by the Oracle sprang to mind again.

_But beware, for those of the fourth will the three-formed forsake_

Percy frowned. But who would be of the fourth—?

An old memory of Chiron explaining Western Civilization sprang to mind.

_"The gods have not always ruled, Percy. We live in the Fourth Age, the Age of the Gods, and will continue to do so for as long as Olympus stands."_

Percy wished he had something to bang his head against. How could he have been so _stupid?_ It had happened before, after all, and he'd listened to Hazel talk about her enough, last time.

Hecate had betrayed Olympus to join Kronos again, bringing her children along with her. And, from the looks of it, she had _plans._

They were so, so, fucked.

But, Percy thought, with a frown, since when was there a Kronos to _join?_

"Percy, run," Luke hissed, oblivious to Percy's thoughts, "I'll take care of this."

Percy gave him an incredulous stare, discarding the Kronos Problem. "Are you _insane?_ She'll turn you into a grease spot."

"That wasn't a suggestion, Percy. _Run._ Get Chiron, warn the Dryads, something, just get out of here."

"Then I reject your not-a-suggestion. _No,"_ Percy retorted. "You'll die."

" _You'll_ die first, kid!"

"As adorable as this is," Hecate drawled, interrupting their bickering, "I do not, as the mortals say, have all day. Are you coming of your free will or not, Luke Castellan?"

"Coming?" Percy asked blankly. "Coming where?"

Hecate arched a delicate eyebrow. "To Othrys, Perseus Jackson, as our master dictates."

"Of course," Alabaster interjected nastily, "He never said unharmed, if you resist, Luke. Or if you fight either, Jackson."

Luke sighed, and a hunted look crossed his face. He lowered his sword. "If I go willingly, will you leave Percy alone? He doesn't know anything about any of this."

If Hecate didn't kill Luke, at this rate, Percy _was._ "Luke, I won't leave you alone. Stop talking like that."

"Weeell, about that," Alabaster said in a sing-song tone, gesturing to his mother.

"To go of your own free will, you must prove your loyalty, Luke Castellan," Hecate crooned. "Do one deed as our lord has commanded you."

Luke's eyes narrowed. "What has he ordered?"

Hecate didn't smile. She said simply, as if she were placing an order for coffee, "Kill the son of Poseidon."

What color was left drained from Luke as he immediately shook his head.

"Luke—" Percy began. He wasn't going to lie down and die, but they might be able to talk their way out of this. Maybe, they could convince Hecate to just have Luke kill a suitably impressive monster or something.

Luke didn't even look at him. "Percy, _shut up._ I refuse, my lady. I won't fight for Kronos."

Hecate shook her head, and tutted. "It's simply charming that you think you have any choice in the matter. Well, if you refuse to kill him, Lord Kronos said he wanted both of you alive."

"Our master is rising, Percy Jackson," Alabaster said gleefully, "And he _remembers_ you."

The three-formed goddess snapped her fingers with an air-piercing _crack._

The ground rumbled beneath his feet.

Percy Jackson fell into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: . . .Er, please don't hurt me? :)  
> Please take a moment to enjoy the fact that I came so close to ending this chapter where our trauma-riddled demigods had fallen asleep by the creek, all happy and sun-drunk. And then scream at me your feelings. :D  
> The next chapter will be up (I promise) February 1st.


	11. A Brief Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing.

_"Because you're my friend, Seaweed Brain. Any more stupid questions?"_

_-Annabeth Chase_

* * *

Chiron had never met a demigod like Perseus Jackson before.

Of course, he was far from the first demigod, much less child of Poseidon, that Chiron had ever trained. But Percy Jackson was quickly proving himself to be _different._

He had proved cynical enough to surprise even Luke—contrary to popular belief, Chiron held little illusion as to the son of Hermes—eyebrow-raisingly fast on learning how to navigate their world of gods and monsters, and a little too talented with a sword.

Well. Perhaps that had been a bit of an understatement about his abilities with a sword, he reconsidered as the memory of a sparring tournament last week sprang to mind.

Luke had proven to be one of the most talented swordsmen Chiron seen in the last five hundred years, and Percy had disarmed him with seemingly little effort at twelve years old.

If Percy continued to train, Chiron suspected, he would eventually exceed even Achilles or Heracles as a swordsman.

He would certainly need it. The Great Prophecy, more and more, loomed over every decision Chiron made, particularly with not one, but _three_ children of the sons of Kronos at camp.

Not, of course, that any of the gods realized it.

Zeus may not know, and Chiron would not be the one to tell him—his loyalty was to the well-being of his students, first and foremost—but Dionysus would tell his father without a moment's thought, if he didn't vaporize them first. Chiron could only be grateful that the god was so naturally disbelieving, and uncaring for his duties as camp director.

The rumors were already beginning to make the rounds between the campers as to why the only living son of Poseidon would be so fiercely protective of Bianca and Nico di Angelo, and short of a false claiming, nothing would stop any of them from drawing their own conclusions. To complicate matters further, Chiron suspected that as matters currently stood, both of the di Angelos would let Olympus burn if it meant saving the life of their cousin.

It was a loyalty that while normally commendable, would prove quite problematic in the event of Percy Jackson's death; control of the Gates of Death, no matter how false the promise, had driven children of Hades to madness and terrible deeds in the past. There was a draw there that Chiron had never quite understood; perhaps it had something to do with the nature of their own powers and deals concerning life and death.

Or, perhaps, Chiron had seen too many of his students die.

And then, of course, there was the matter of _how in Zeus's name had Percy Jackson known their parentage in the first place?_

It was one of a thousand small things that refused to add up, and whatever it was, it was certainly driving him to surprising measures for two supposed strangers—far enough to brazenly yell at a dozen demigods, all older and with more training, over the Great Prophecy.

And that didn't mention Nico di Angelo's mysterious grudge against Luke, or the wary suspicion that never quite left his sister's eyes around anyone not her brother, or named Percy Jackson.

 _Volatile,_ Chiron thought wearily as he finished more paperwork in the Big House, _does not quite do any of them justice._

Loyal to each other instead of their parents, and about to undergo the delightful process of mortal adolescence in a summer camp full of half-mortal teenagers armed to the teeth.

The gods help them if Thalia Grace was ever returned to her mortal form. Chiron had never met her, but if Grover and Annabeth's stories carried even a fraction of truth, Camp Half-Blood would be lucky to survive all of them.

To make matters worse, Chiron had seen the measurements Demeter's children took every six months of Thalia's tree; if she was returned to her human form soon, somehow, she would land somewhere between fifteen and a half, and weeks shy of her sixteenth birthday.

If someone found the Golden Fleece or convinced someone equal to Zeus's power to intervene within the next two years, that someone would control the fate of Western Civilization.

Perhaps, Chiron considered, he should issue a quest for the Golden Fleece. Have some of the older campers band together to find it and bring it back. Better to have it in their control rather than fall into the hands of whoever had stolen Zeus's Master Bolt. The gods only knew what would happen then.

Moreover, it would possibly bode better for the prophecy to have Thalia Grace fulfill it.

Chiron was fond of Percy Jackson, his lack of skill with Latin aside. But he wasn't a spring foal; the son of Poseidon was hiding something, something potentially able to rip the camp apart.

No one was _that_ skilled with a sword their first summer, and he had been positive that Percy had been unaware of his Greek heritage before coming to camp. The fight with the Minotaur, according to both Grover and his account afterward, had been survived through his own wits along with sheer consistent with the arrival of oblivious powerful demigods.

But then, days later, he disarmed Luke Castellan with ease, defeated the god of war, won half of his sparring matches against much more experienced campers (Not to mention throwing a full quarter of the ones he _did_ lose; Chiron was not an idiot, and had been paying more attention after the summer solstice), and was smuggling children of Hades and blackmailing Hermes's sons with success.

Something had changed in Percy Jackson from before the quest, Chiron knew. But _what?_

But before he could think any further, Lee Fletcher came thundering into his study, skidding across the floor to a stop.

"Chiron! It's Luke and Percy!" he said breathlessly, eyes wide with shock and fear.

In his hands, he clutched his bow tightly, and his half-empty quiver was slung across his back. Shaken out of his reverie, Chiron could now hear yelling outside, and could see out a window that Clarisse La Rue was ordering her siblings around, all of them already half-dressed in battle armor.

"What is it?" Chiron asked sharply.

Lee shook his head disbelievingly. "They're _gone,_ sir. Luke and Percy, they went out into the woods hours ago and didn't come back. The Stolls raised the alarm, but there's been no sign."

The son of Apollo took another steadying breath, and Chiron frowned as he stepped out of his wheelchair. "Are you positive they didn't leave camp?"

"No sign of it. None of us have been inside Cabin Three, but Luke's things are undisturbed, and there's nothing missing besides the clothes they were wearing."

Sometimes, Chiron felt dreadfully old; never moreso then when old cycles began again. "It most likely means they didn't leave of their own volition, then. Something must have gotten inside past the boundary."

"Chiron, some of the Dryads from around the creek claim a goddess showed up. What do we do, sir?" he asked, his eyes steeling in a way Chiron hadn't seen Apollo's eyes since the last war.

"Search the camp, look for any sign of intruders, and institute more rigorous patrols through the woods and around the boundaries. Put a guard around Thalia's tree as well. Anything else?" Chiron asked, already preparing himself to talk with Dionysus. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have to go over the god's head to talk to Zeus.

If he did _that,_ it would only be a matter of time before the whole of Olympus found out.

"Nothing else, except. . ." Lee trailed off again, his tone unsure. "We found a pen by the creek, with a Celestial Bronze sword. Neither looked familiar, but Beckendorf said he had given the sword to Luke recently."

Chiron nodded tersely. "You may go, Lee."

After the son of Apollo left the room, Chiron swore quietly in ancient Greek.

He was supposed to have had more _time._

* * *

"Hey, Thals. Sorry, it's been a while."

Annabeth gave a heavy sigh, and collapsed against the pine tree that had once been the daughter of Zeus, heedless of the armor she still had on.

Patrol was exhausting on a good day, but in the aftermath of two demigods disappearing right out of camp? It was _exhausting._

Clarisse and some of her siblings, with Chiron's backing, had been running them into the ground with training. All activities in the woods had been canceled, with extensive patrol schedules drawn up in their place. Security was more stringent than she ever remembered it, and Annabeth had even seen Argus running errands for the healers from the Apollo Cabin, a club almost as tall as she was riding shotgun.

Unfortunately, all of this had made sure that Annabeth had barely any time to do something besides eat and sleep in her precious free time.

Or talk to Thalia for that matter.

Annabeth said as much out loud, feeling rather foolish—she always did, but still hoped irrationally that somewhere, Thalia could hear her voice—before she pulled out her knife to clean it.

She usually cleaned her weapons, when she came to rant—which was what they dissolved into, most of the time. Angry rants about how everything would have been better if the daughter of Zeus was there, and hadn't as good as died.

Leaving Annabeth and Luke alone.

Five years later, and the loss still felt like a punch to the chest.

But that wasn't what Annabeth had come to talk about today.

"Gods, it's been insane here," Annabeth groaned as she began to wipe at the blade, "With Luke and Percy—who I really should tell you about, he has been positively _infuriating_ —gone, or kidnapped, or whatever, Chiron's not sure yet, the entire camp has been on edge. I thought things would get better after the quest to find the bolt, but things only got worse recently. We've all been rotating on patrols, and the entire Ares cabin has been preparing like the Titans are about to rise again."

Annabeth inspected her knife critically, before wiping away a spot of dirt. "But back to the point. Percy Jackson. _Di Immortales,_ Percy Jackson. He's a son of Poseidon, and I understand why my mother hates his father now. He's the _worst."_

Suddenly, a bracing wind swept through the trees around her, and Annabeth leaned into it, wiping the sweat from her brow as she heard the distinctive crashing of the waves on the beach.

The beach that Annabeth had caught him sneaking back from, and he then had the nerve to try and _lie_ to her about.

"His head is probably literally filled with seaweed," she sneered. It was an exaggeration and she knew it, but she couldn't find it in herself to care right then. Percy Jackson, as far as she was concerned, was a gods-damned _menace._ "He's _obviously_ keeping secrets of some kind, he's constantly almost getting himself killed, and he called me his _girlfriend_ when we met, when we didn't even know each other, let alone dating each other. Honest to gods, _dating._ "

She paused to snicker derisively, and began to clean the hilt of her knife.

"That's part of why he's infuriating, anyway," Annabeth added frustratedly, "The other part is because he can be so stupidly intelligent, he managed to save my life, find two demigods in Las Vegas, save _their_ lives, stop World War Three, all within _two weeks,_ and I just don't understand _how."_

Before going on, Annabeth broke off as the current patrol walked by. She gave a tight smile to Jake Mason and Katie Gardner, and waited until they were out of earshot before continuing.

No one had ever understood why, except for Chiron.

"But, it's nothing big," she qualified, "The details don't add up about him. Percy sometimes knows stuff I was positive he wouldn't know about. There was one time, on our quest, where I think he somehow knew there was a monster running a restaurant we were about to walk into. He made me and Grover wait outside, it turned out to be Medusa, and he killed her. By _himself!"_

Annabeth, now in the full swing of it, turned to face Thalia's tree, starting to gesticulate as she talked. "He doesn't use his sword like it's new to him, he's comfortable with Riptide like he's used it for years. In Las Vegas, he somehow found two demigods in this strange hotel, and knew about my fear of spiders before I ever told him. Then, I've caught him sneaking out of camp onto the beach, where I think he was talking with someone, I don't even know who. And he keeps _lying_ about the strangest things. I've never seen him state his age with a straight face."

She sighed, feeling tired more than ever. "I just don't know, Thalia. None of this has been making sense lately. Luke's clearly been a wreck, Chiron's worried about something he won't tell me about, Grover's obsessed with getting his license, the rest of camp doesn't know anything going on, my _father_ wrote me, and I just don't _know_ anything anymore."

The well-worn grief and loneliness was bubbling up again, and Annabeth, for the first time in years, felt something resembling the urge to cry.

"I wish you were here, Thalia," she whispered, leaning her forehead against the rough bark. "You always had a plan."

At this, Annabeth could've sworn she heard Thalia's voice, faint on the breeze. _You're the daughter of Athena here, Annie. I always stole your ideas._

"Don't call me that."

It was ridiculous, and she was probably hallucinating due to lack of sleep, but she'd never been able to resist rising to the bait when Thalia had been alive.

_You need a plan, Annie? Think your problems through, one at a time. How are you going to deal with Kelp Head?_

She snorted at the hallucination's comment. "More like a Seaweed Brain."

_That stupid?_

"I don't know anymore, he doesn't make _sense,_ but he just helped save Olympus, and almost died for his mom," she explained, her voice softening when she mentioned Sally Jackson, "She's not like yours, Thalia. She's _kind;_ she offered me cookies and a place to stay if I ever needed it, and stayed with this awful man to protect Percy. He really loves his mom, I think."

_Sounds like he has some priorities straight, then. Lucky bastard._

"She. . .I think she thought I was his friend," she added, her voice small.

_You and **Kelp Head?** Guess his mom isn't perfect after all. You've got better taste than that, Annie._

"Don't call me Annie. And he's not _that_ bad," she said reflexively, "He just doesn't make _sense."_

 _Annie, newsflash: none of us make sense. If you really like Kelp Head so much_ —

"I don't _like_ him, I just don't know him—"

_Then just give him a chance to explain himself. Just include your knife in that chance._

Annabeth didn't respond immediately, instead truly taking a moment to think about the problematic anomaly known as Percy Jackson.

She _had_ been pretty paranoid about Percy, she admitted to herself with something uncomfortably close to shame curling in her chest. It wasn't like she'd been particularly open to anyone besides Luke and Grover when she had first come to camp, either.

But, she hadn't been sneaking about of her cabin, accused of trying to start World War Three, and calling random people her boyfriend, either.

Suddenly, a snatch of a memory from before the quest, a conversation that had been pushed to the back of her mind in the weeks that had followed, sprang to the front of her mind.

_"Don't be silly," Annabeth said dismissively, trying to keep herself under control. Right now, she wouldn't have minded a chance to punch Percy Jackson. "You've always been in that danger, same as the rest of us, it's normal—"_

_"Well, it wasn't for me," Percy Jackson growled, his tone ragged, and fierce with anger and sadness she'd only heard from Luke._ _"I had a **normal** life, Annabeth. It wasn't perfect, but I had a normal life with a mom I love and awesome best friend. Now, I've been thrust into this world where I have no idea what's going on, and everyone's expecting something that they won't tell me about, but are just fine with killing me over it."_

He had been hurting when he'd come to camp, Annabeth realized, a sickening feeling forming a lead ball in her stomach.

Percy had no idea what was going on, was hurt and alone at camp, and she had. . .she had. . .

_What was I **thinking?**_

Maybe she had been a _little_ bit prejudiced, Annabeth grudgingly conceded. He'd kept secrets, but it wasn't as if he'd actually hurt anyone.

"You're probably right," she finally conceded out loud with a resigned sigh. "Maybe I should. . . hear him all the way out first."

Punching him still wasn't completely out of the question, she decided. She'd do her best to be fair like her mother, and hear what Percy Jackson had to say.

But, that still left one question about Percy Jackson: What was she going to do now?

"He and Luke just _disappeared,_ though," Annabeth continued, "And I have no idea where to start. Chiron's determined on getting a tracking spell and figuring out if it was kidnapping first. Maybe. . .I could ask Grover? He got his license, and can take his own assignments if he can persuade the satyrs' council. We could start to look by ourselves."

_Uh-huh. Remember to check motives first, Annie, and evidence left behind. That'll narrow things down. But what about those two demigods from Las Vegas?_

Annabeth began to pace in front of Thalia's tree. "I don't think they're much of a danger; not more than Percy is, anyway. They clearly have little training, and are already making friends at camp. I don't think I need to deal with or involve them. I don't think they know anything that's been making Percy act so oddly."

_Easy, simple, no bullshit. I like it. Anything else?_

The daughter of Athena stopped dead. "Dad."

_You don't have to go there in August, Annie.  
_

"Should I write him?" she asked, even as she already began to turn over the possibilities of writing him to see if just maybe, he actually meant it about trying again this time.

But for a long time, Thalia didn't respond, leaving her sitting alone in the silence.

Annabeth was about to leave, when Thalia, as always, finally decided to get the last word in, sounding strangely formal as she did so.

_I don't know. I think you should sleep first, Annabeth. When did you last have a nap, if they are pushing these patrols so hard?_

Annabeth grimaced. "Really?"

No response this time. It seemed her hallucination had hit its time limit. Annabeth rolled her eyes, even as she inwardly conceded the necessity of a nap. She took a deep shuddering breath and stood up at last.

But as she collected herself, she was surprised by a grey owl suddenly taking off from the branches above her head, flying off into the distance with a single, friendly _hoot._

Annabeth was pretty sure there had been no birds in the vicinity when she had arrived.

"Thanks, Mom?" she asked cautiously.

There was no response, but Annabeth hadn't expected any. It didn't wipe the slight smile from her face as she walked back to her cabin, everything aching a little bit less.

* * *

Grover was a fully-fledged Searcher.

His license had been awarded weeks ago, and he was still at Camp Half-Blood.

Grover was also a terrible friend and satyr.

Percy Jackson had been gone for days.

For all of his life, he had been determined to gain his license, and do what no other satyr had done: find Pan. After his failure with Thalia, daughter of Zeus, it had felt like a worthless wish, but thanks to the quest, thanks to _Percy,_ he'd finally earned his license, and the right to search for the God of the Wild. It was everything he had ever wished for.

Now, it was completely meaningless.

It wasn't hard to figure out why; his empathy link with Percy—something he'd created out of desperation after Percy and Luke had disappeared—had been nearly useless, and still left Grover in the dark. Grover hadn't been able to contact Percy in his dreams, or figure out his location, beyond a possibility of the West Coast of the United States for where the two demigods had disappeared to.

Well, kidnapped, Grover mentally amended.

Chiron had refused to put the name to the crime, but they all knew what it was, ever since Juniper had come running out of the woods, screaming about a goddess in Camp Half-Blood.

If Mr. D was doing anything, or if Olympus even knew, there was no sign of it. And by no sign of it, Grover thought cynically, was that the sea wasn't trying to kill them, and no one had come down to smite all of them. _Grover_ certainly wasn't going to be the one to tell them _("Mrs. Jackson, I'm sorry, P-Percy. . ." "Where is my son, Grover?")_ ; he _liked_ not being dead.

So, they were all left scrambling to find the sons of Hermes and Poseidon before someone else figured out what had happened.

It was frustrating, though, when no one had a clue why someone would take them in the first place. Luke had never been the same since his quest, and Grover had been as shocked as Annabeth over him stealing the Master Bolt, but it didn't explain _kidnapping,_ and as for Percy. . .

Grover wasn't an idiot, and he knew his best friend; ever since waking up after the fight with the Minotaur, Percy had been. . .off, in away he couldn't quite explain. But anything Grover could come up with still didn't explain anything. Percy had changed, and Grover wasn't sure it was a good thing.

It was nothing that many people were able to take notice; Mrs. Jackson, he was pretty sure, was convinced it had something to do with the quest and her being taken. Annabeth had been, well, _Annabeth_ about it, and Chiron had kept his own counsel. None of them had considered it to be anything out of the ordinary for demigods. People usually changed after discovering their godly heritage, and Chiron had waved away Grover's concerns.

But Grover still wasn't so sure.

He'd seen no surprise or shock at Percy's claiming; instead of shock or fear, Percy had seemed almost _resigned,_ despite having just lost so much blood and being claimed by the god of the sea.

Sometimes, he would catch Percy with facial expressions that Grover only usually saw in _Chiron._ As if he knew how they were all going to die, and was already bracing himself for the funeral. Some days, Percy would look at _Grover_ as if he were surprised that Grover was still there.

And it didn't end there, Grover thought miserably as he watched some children of Demeter walk by. It just got _worse._

Since creating the empathy link, he had woken up in the middle of the night more than once, a hard knot of panic in his chest, desperately struggling for breath as he tried to outrun the suffocating fear and grief _ _—__ before Grover realized that the emotions were, in fact, Percy's; and those times had been increasing lately, much to Grover's worry and increasing fatigue.

He wanted to find his best friend, but he was so _tired._ He could hardly leave Percy alone to his nightmares, though. Since the dream transference had begun, it had gotten steadily worse _—_ despite Grover's failure to actually contact Percy, oddly, and it was beginning to stress Grover out enough he was beginning to chew on furniture again _—_ to the point that Percy's dreams had begun to bleed over into Grover's.

It was always confusing, and had led to Grover running into a few trees after waking up; he rarely remembered more than flashes the morning after, and what he did remember made no sense.

At least, Grover was pretty sure they were dreams; they couldn't possibly be memories.

Grover was fairly sure Percy had never been stabbed in the back, fought a ghost army, jumped in the River Styx, or run into a god with golden hair and eyes who had looked an awful lot like Luke Castellan.

He _hoped_ so. Because when did Percy find the time to _do_ all of that? And, if it was all true, what did it mean that he and Luke had disappeared at the same time?

Not that Grover, to be frank, doubted Percy at all; he was _Grover's best friend._ Nothing would change that.

Grover did, however, worry what monsters he would have to fight for the son of Poseidon. He doubted "So Yesterday" would prove particularly intimidating to what he had seen flashes of.

What had _happened_ to Percy Jackson?

"Grover!"

He was shaken out of his thoughts by Annabeth Chase yelling his name. He looked up from the strawberry fields he had been staring out at to see the daughter of Athena running towards him, her unbound blonde hair streaming out behind her as she ran up to him.

"Grover, listen," Annabeth said breathlessly, "I need you to do something for me. I need you to convince the Council of Cloven Elders and Chiron to give you an assignment."

Grover had always liked and been intimidated by Annabeth Chase in equal measure. As such, it made rejecting her requests very difficult. But, he'd happily reject them, with great effort, if it got in the way of finding Percy. Or Percy in general. Grover hadn't missed the suspicion in the daughter of Athena's eyes before Percy had disappeared.

"An assignment to. . .what?" he asked nervously.

"Find Percy Jackson. I have an idea on how to find him, but I'll need your help," she explained, her face solemn and just a little bit worried.

Oh. That had. . .not been what Grover was expecting.

Sheepishly, Grover admitted, "I was actually about to go and ask them."

It was good to know he'd have an ally, though.

Grover was a fully-fledged Searcher. He'd search for his best friend for years, if that was what it took; Annabeth Chase would probably make sure he found Percy a whole lot sooner, however.

His mind made up, Grover stood up, grabbed his rasta cap, and went into the woods to talk to the Council of Cloven Elders.

Pan would just have to wait.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: See, another update! SEE HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU ALL? :D
> 
> Seriously, that response from the last chapter blew my mind. You all are the best, and thank you so much for reviewing, favoriting, and generally making my freaking day whenever I open my e-mail.
> 
> Additionally, as informed by a fantastic reader of mine, I should mention that technically the Age of the Gods is the Fifth Age, but for various reasons (Hesiod is depressing), I decided to make it the Fourth Age (As in the order is Chaos, Gaia/Ouranos, Titans, Gods).
> 
> Lastly—sorry for the long A/N—some of you will already know this, but there WILL be another chapter February 4 (Monday), considering this one is A) Shorter than usual, and B) Has no Percy in it. So, consider this a teaser, I suppose?


	12. The Three-Formed and the Fourth Age, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, and mentions of PTSD.

_"I am not bound to please thee with my answer."_

-Shylock, _The Merchant of Venice_

* * *

Percy Jackson woke up.

Percy regretted that decision a lot.

He rolled onto his stomach with a groan, eyes clenched shut as his muscles protested the movement, feeling brittle and freshly set on fire. As he waited for the pain to recede, face pressed to the cool floor, Percy tried to remember just what happened to leave him like this in. . .

Actually, he had no clue where he was, or how long he had been unconscious.

That was probably a bad sign.

Percy opened his eyes. This didn't prove particularly enlightening, as he was in a small cell—an admittedly clean one, with a spartan _(Heh, spartan)_ cot and toilet—all of its walls made of startlingly familiar black stone.

Obsidian, such as the stuff that made up Mount Othrys, which had been ruled by— _Kronos._

Who had somehow convinced Hecate to pledge her allegiance to him again. Who, for all that Percy was great with a sword, was a very different opponent than Ares. _("Um, Hazel_ _—" "It's a long story, Percy.")  
_

The memories returned to Percy in a sudden storm.

_"As adorable as this is— "  
_

_But beware, for those of the fourth will the three-formed forsake—_

_"You must prove your loyalty, Luke Castellan."_

_"Percy, run—"_

_"—I do not, as the mortals say, have all day."_

_"—I'll take care of this."_

_"Kill the son of Poseidon."_

_"Our master is rising, Percy Jackson. And he remembers you."_

That was bad. _Remember_ him? But, Percy had been the only one, he had thought _—no_ , he had assumed. _("There's an old saying, Percy. To assume makes a dead one out of me, and deader one out of you_.")

Finally, he began to stagger to his feet, only to almost be yanked down to the floor by his wrists. For the first time, he truly noticed the weight of the Celestial Bronze ringing his wrists.

Chained. His wrists were chained to the wall, and Percy couldn't feel the familiar weight of Riptide in his pocket. _Great, just peachy._

And Luke was nowhere to be found, Percy realized uneasily as he stood up, wincing somewhat less than before _—_ though, his knees still felt like those of an eighty-four-year-old man. Or if he were Tiresias.

As the aches gradually faded, Percy retreated to the cot, and gingerly sat down as he began to think his situation through, and channel Annabeth Chase a little.

First off, if he was really in Mount Othrys, what had _happened_ when he wasn't looking? He had dreamed about Othrys restored, but Percy had been positive those were visions.

If Othrys was really restored, what did that mean for Kronos—who, last Percy checked, was still in lots of tiny pieces in Tartarus?

Second, why had Hecate tried to make Luke kill Percy in order to prove his loyalty to Kronos, instead of just kidnapping both of them? Alabaster, Percy remembered, at the very least made a little bit of sense. Minor gods gaining entrance into camp was always an iffy proposition; better to just have a demigod invite them in and avoid any difficulties altogether. But the posturing? What had that been for?

And, speaking of demigods, where the hell was Luke? Percy tried to peer outside his cell, but couldn't make out anything beyond a few torches lit with Greek fire. The only thing he could hear outside his heartbeat were several sets of echoing footsteps _—_ and they were growing louder.

Percy had a bad feeling about this.

He stood up, staying in his corner of the cell, just in time for two armed _empousai_ to walk into his range of sight. Behind them strode a tuxedo-clad man, the scars on his face identical to the last time Percy had seen him.

Well, not a Man, Percy mentally amended, with a capital _M._

A Titan.

"When Othrys was built," Prometheus said idly, "These cells were one of the last aspects of the palace to be completed, with little sense of urgency to their construction _—_ and even then, once they were built, they were barely considered a hardship to be in. They were clean, and the rare prisoner's needs provided for without fuss. At the time, Kronos had yet to grow fearful of his future children, and he was a beloved ruler. People were delighted to obey him in all things."

Percy snorted. "Well, that, and the fact that everyone was terrified of him deciding they'd make good snacks."

Instead of growing defensive, Prometheus only gave Percy a knowing, serene look.

Gods, he'd forgotten how much he hated dealing with Prometheus. _("Percy, you're not seriously going to listen to this slimeball, are you?")_

"Ah, so defiant," the Titan of Forethought said wistfully, "You know, I have always loved that most about you and your ancestors. That stubborn refusal to give in, even when faced with absolute defeat."

He gestured to the _empousa_ on his left, who Percy vaguely recognized as Serephone from Tartarus, who darted forward to unlock the gate to the cell. Prometheus stepped through, towering over Percy. "I would introduce myself, but I've been informed we have met before."

"Yeah," Percy said hoarsely, tamping down on the urge to make use of some of the choicest Greek and Latin swear words Thalia had once taught him. "I remember. King Cannibal tell you?"

Prometheus gave him a delighted smile, as if Percy were a dog who had just managed a particularly impressive trick. His eyes, however, remained distantly cold. "Yes, _Lord_ Kronos informed me of his and your. . .unique circumstances."

"Unique circumstances," Percy echoed, his tone more than a little bitter. "I don't suppose he _told_ you how it all happened?"

Prometheus didn't answer, much to Percy's annoyance. Instead, the _empousai_ entered the cell, roughly yanking Percy's arms behind his back. Percy tried to resist _—_ an effort hindered first by a growing headache, and then befuddlement generated by the monsters' presence, to no avail. When it became clear he wasn't going to get anywhere resisting _—_ and even then, how would Percy get past _Prometheus?_ _—_ Percy immediately relaxed.

Maybe a talk with the Head Titan Honcho himself would actually get Percy some answers for once.

Prometheus gestured to the hallyway, and Percy was dragged out behind him as the Titan slowly strode down the hallway.

"As Uncle executed his dramatic escape from the Underworld," Prometheus explained softly as Percy was dragged along by the _empousai_ , "He made for Thanatos and the Doors of Death, near the three mortal judges Minos, Aiakos, and Rhadamanthys. Hades, unfortunately for him, did not figure this out until it was too late, instead attempting to block off the River Styx and the boatman Charon. In the process of this escape, Kronos and his allies, including several of his siblings, cut a swath through the Fields of Asphodel."

Prometheus gave Percy a significant look; the son of Poseidon looked blankly back. His mind raced with the possibilities behind Prometheus's words, even as his heart sank. _Di Immortales, did they **actually** resurrect someone?_

"Some mortal souls, in what little minds and foolish courage they had left, decided to follow instead of retreat, sensing Thanatos' power over their lives and deaths. Most of them did not make it, or if they did, were kept away by the monsters."

They approached one last cell. Prometheus paused. "One, however, a female demigod soul, was determined to have potential, and was brought through."

As he spoke, a look of deep paternal disappointment crossed his face that made Percy's skin crawl.

"She's proven stubborn about using her power," Prometheus added with a disappointed sigh, "But we will convince her soon enough, I imagine. It's not as if she has anyone or anything in this time."

Percy peered inside, and prepared himself to keep a blank face. But what he saw _—who_ he saw _—_ forced a slight gasp out of him. Thankfully, Prometheus didn't appear to notice.

In the cell was a short, female demigod with curly brown hair and a dark complexion, curled up in on herself. She was wearing an old-fashioned patterned dress that wouldn't have been out of place sixty years ago, and didn't look at Prometheus as he spoke.

She wasn't asleep, however.

Percy could see from where he stood that her jaw was set and her fists clenched. He fought the urge to smile, ridiculous as it would have been in their situation.

But, well. He had been _lonely_ in this bizarro timeline.

She had been one of many people he'd missed fiercely for the last two months, and while this was far from a situation where he wanted to see her again, he was happy to see her back in the land of the living.

Hazel Levesque, daughter of Pluto.

* * *

Percy wasn't given any time to think more on it. After Prometheus finished monologuing to his immortal heart's content, Percy was promptly dragged upstairs _—_ away from _Hazel,_ gods—and through the empty hallways of Kronos's Evil Palace of Doom (Mark Two).

 _Nearly_ empty, that was. And not for lack of redecorating. There were guards _everywhere._

At every conjunction, Percy took careful note of the variety of monsters, ranging _dracaenae,_ to manticores, to someone howling off in the distance and bringing to mind Lupa's stories of Lykaon.

There was already the rare demigod, armed and armored from head to toe; selfishly, Percy felt relieved that he didn't recognize anyone, even as the knot of anxiety in his stomach grew larger at the implications of the presence of demigods in Kronos's service already.

Ethan Nakamura and Alabaster Torrington were nowhere to be seen, and Percy didn't spot any minor deities or Titans besides Prometheus.

As they moved through the hallways, Percy did his best to take note of any possible landmarks and get a feel for Othrys's layout, to little avail. While there were plenty of distinct stone carvings and designs to mark his way, the hallways seemed to have no logic to them, and Percy could _feel_ himself getting lost.

Finally, without slowing down or any form of ceremony, they approached a pair of ostentatious, golden doors. Prometheus waved his hand, and they opened smoothly. Percy was dragged inside, staggering as he attempted to not fall flat on his face. He felt the temperature drop the second he set foot in the throne room, and could see his breath in front of his face.

Almost immediately, his eyes landed on the empty throne he had seen in his dreams. Only the throne, this time, was not empty.

Percy felt his jaw drop as he stared at Kronos _—_ all two feet of him. Beside him, Prometheus bowed briefly at the waist, and Percy was shoved to his knees by Serephone. He barely noticed as he tried to make sense of the sight before him.

Honestly, he looked more than a little bit like Gollum from _The Lord of the Rings_ moves _—_ if Gollum had actually had worn clothes, and had gone California blonde. Percy was glad he wasn't anywhere close enough to know if the teeth were the same.

Really, he looked much more like Gollum's buff brother than the character himself. And absolutely _nothing_ like the Lord of Time, save for the golden, glowing eyes.

And yet, Percy knew, somewhere deep in the tiny part of his gut that had been screaming at him to run away for the past six years and never look back (As well as the part the _rest_ of Percy's gut had been telling to shut up for the past six years), it _was_ Kronos.

Percy had never seen anyone else replicate that canny, arrogantly knowing look.

"Surprised, grandchild?" Kronos rasped. Percy continued to stare. "I suppose you would call it a homunculus, in your language. There is no exacting term for it, otherwise. Prometheus tried his hand once more at the arts he used to mold your ancestors to create me a host, once I escaped from the Underworld, barely two weeks past."

As he said this, Kronos held up one tiny, skeletal hand, and Percy could just make out a golden glow emanating from it—him. Percy shivered, and he wasn't sure if it was from the cold floor, or if it was just another affect of being in Kronos's presence.

"However, this is only a temporary vessel, as my power is incapable of being held for long within. . .this," Kronos said with distaste as he studied his translucent hand. Prometheus, the slimeball, lowered his head, murmuring something in a regretful tone. Kronos didn't even look at him, and instead finally turned the full force of his gaze to Percy.

"But enough about my various tribulations in the course of re-claiming my throne. You must, I imagine, be quite confused by this point as to how I engineered my escape from Tartarus around the Summer Solstice. Or, for that matter, of how I retained my memories of _you._ "

Immediately, the memory of when Percy, Nico, and Bianca had been in the Underworld garden, and Hades immediately teleported them to Santa Monica after the Underworld went all explode-y sprang to mind.

Kronos, oblivious, sighed, the sickening grin on his face somehow all the more unnerving in his Buff Gollum body. "You can thank your beloved _Fates_ for that. At some point in your previous timeline, after my children—presumably assisted by you—defeated me for the second time, I, in what little consciousness I had managed to piece together, felt a foreign presence begin to pull at my strings, in _my domain._

Percy frowned. "I thought you used to control time."

The tiny Titan looked as if he were trying not to roll his eyes.

"It is _metaphorical,_ Perseus. I am referring to my powers; and there is no _used to._ Time is part of me, and I am of it; I will _always_ have power over time. I understand demigods are slow, but do try to keep up. The _Fates,_ " Kronos said patronizingly, "Were foolish enough to forget this. When they attempted to marshal my power, they managed to do what I would have struggled to accomplish in millennia. In order to harness my power over time, they helped make my soul whole once more. And when they sent you back to rewrite events, I went with you. . . and did some redirection in the process."

The son of Poseidon felt like he was going to be sick.

Kronos was smirking. "They would have sent you back to when you were a mere babe, given you the chance to change things from the very beginning of your life. It was not a terrible plan. I do not why they would consider _you_ for such a privilege—"

Percy couldn't help it. His hysterical laughter echoed off the walls as everyone else turned to stare.

"—Or in what circumstances," Kronos continued, unfazed, "But the range of change. . .it would have been incalculable. I could not allow that. So, I chose a time more amenable to _me._ After my son's lightning had been stolen, and in a time where I was already making preparations. But with one change: instead of climbing my way back from a husk of my true self as I conduct a war, I am already in full possession of my powers and mental faculties, with memories of two wars against my rebellious children."

Percy's eyes widened, and at last, he finally began to get a sense of the real picture.

And he fucking _loathed_ it.

The Fates, for their own reasons—probably connected to _the world ending_ —had tried to send _him,_ of all people, back in time to try and fix stuff. Instead, Kronos had somehow managed to hitch a ride, and now had managed to completely destroy what little was left of the timeline. He had probably sent Medusa, Percy realized; she had claimed her master had sent her, and the claim fit with the temporary control—he _hoped_ it was temporary, anyway; it hadn't been long enough yet for any god to admit trouble was afoot—of the Doors of Death. Ares's actions, _Luke's_ actions, made much more sense.

If Percy were Kronos, he wouldn't want to leave things to the ones who had changed things in the first place.

They were in so, so much trouble, Percy thought bleakly.

"So, why am I here then?" he challenged, a familiar sense of reckless courage rising. "Because I don't know if you've bothered to ask around, but Hazel—you know, the girl who can out-stubborn a brick?—is thirteen. I'm twelve. _Again."_

Not that Percy was bitter about being twelve again or anything.

Kronos raised his eyebrows—or at least, he would've if he _had_ eyebrows, Percy suspected. Buff Gollum didn't really allow for subtle facial expressions. "Ah, so you _do_ know the girl. I had wondered."

Percy wished he had his hands free so he could smack himself in the face. _That was a rookie mistake, stupid. Gotta be better than that._

He shrugged with a false air of nonchalance, anyway, and tried to salvage things. "Only met once or twice; we never really knew each other."

Kronos didn't react, and Serephone hissed at Percy with a tone disturbingly similar to laughter, but Percy decided to take it as he continued, anger finally beginning to take hold. He was kidnapped, in the stronghold of _Kronos,_ Hazel had been brought back to life, and Luke was gods knew where—actually, Percy thought hysterically, _they_ probably didn't know.

"Why me, though?" he demanded recklessly. "Why don't you just kill me already, and take another Big Three demigod out of the equation?

Kronos chuckled. As he did so, what hair he had turned a thunderous gray, his clothes shifted to more closely resemble a military uniform, and the shadow of a beard formed as the room temperature dropped even further. His eyes, however, remained the bright gold of a _drachma._

"Who made the Great Prophecy, Perseus? The Oracle. A _Greek_ prophet. If the prophecy concerned the Romans, one of their priests or the Sibylline Books would have decreed it long ago, like their Prophecy of Seven," Kronos— _Saturn_ sneered. "No, the Pluto girl will play no part in this; it does not concern her. But _you,_ Perseus Jackson. You will play a great role indeed in my re-ascension to my rightful place as ruler. As I tear down Olympus _brick by brick._ "

Percy gritted his teeth as he shivered, and tried his best to regulate his breathing at the terrifyingly familiar line. _("That was my promise. Tear it down **brick by brick!"** )_

"My lord," Prometheus spat out, his jaw clenched, as the design of his tuxedo seemed to waver. Saturn's gaze switched to him, a snarl already brimming on his lips, "Remember yourself."

As quickly as the approach of spring, the grey melted away from his hair, and the Lord of Time became clean-shaven once more.

Kronos gave a sigh, seemingly tinged with relief. "As I said. The Great Prophecy will be fulfilled by you and your cousins, grandchild. Why would I wish to kill you, when I already know you, your strengths, and where to push to make you break?"

"But, Medusa claimed—" Percy cut off his protest as quickly as it began, the memory of fighting her the second time 'round springing to mind. Specifically, something she had said.

_I have no wish to kill a child of my former lover._

Admittedly, her capturing tactics had sucked, and Percy was pretty sure the turning-to-stone thing was permanent, but. . .

She hadn't. Really tried to kill him. Much. Just capture him. As an ugly statue.

He tried to say as much, but Kronos waved his minuscule glowing hands dismissively before Percy could speak again. "Statues are easily reversible, for Prometheus—or me. _Time,_ demigod. I can reverse the process as if it never happened, and he created your kind."

Percy's eyebrows shot up, and he mentally filed the information away, in the same area containing memories of Bob/Iapetus fixing his and Annabeth's injuries, in the old timeline.

"But none of that is why I had Prometheus bring you here," Kronos said dismissively. Percy tensed up, and automatically glanced around the room again, checking for missed threats.

"You have your memories, and your soul is eighteen years old, not sixteen. I did not expect Luke Castellan to be so easily swayed this time, when he acted as my willing host last time, but then—I should never have underestimated my youngest in the first place," Kronos said, his tone surprisingly thoughtful, "And mortals such as you, Perseus, do your best to be surprisingly complicated. You are all highly fickle. So, to this, tell me—how _did_ you convince Luke Castellan to betray me?"

Percy didn't immediately respond, but not due to a lack of an answer. His mind, instead, was caught on how Kronos spoke of Luke.

Not as a former traitor, or a blank slate to brainwash all over again.

_To be so easily swayed this time._

Instead, he spoke of Luke as if he had been loyal all the way through, and this time was a complete surprise.

Percy studied Kronos, his mind racing. _Does he **remember** how he lost last time?_

 _"Perseus Jackson."_ Kronos's voice cracked through the air like a whip, and Percy's words were drawn out of him.

"By telling him the truth—and reminding him you're an evil bastard who ate his own children."

"The _truth?"_ Kronos said sardonically, ignoring Percy's second, _actually really valid_ shot _("What, you expect the guy who eats his kids to be **reasonable?")**_. "Really, Perseus. How _did_ you persuade him?"

Percy was better prepared this time for the apparent persuasion Buff Gollum was capable of. "By persuading him that not all gods steal candy from babies and lunch money from poor little Titans."

In hindsight, he really should've seen the punch from one of the _empousai_ coming. Thankfully, his nose didn't _feel_ broken.

As the pain faded, he watched as Kronos. . .laughed? Genuinely, too. Not as mocking as it had been earlier.

That was actually a little bit terrifying.

"I did always appreciate the spirit. It's a delight to crush in your kind, Perseus," Kronos said with satisfaction, "Even if none of you could ever hope to defeat me in combat, your verbal defiance is always entertaining."

Well, Percy thought relievedly, that sealed it.

Kronos _didn't_ remember how he had finally lost. Not if he didn't remember fighting Percy in the Olympian throne room, Luke choosing to fight Kronos at the end, Annabeth convincing him to in the first place with the broken promise, Ethan's death, any of it.

They still had a chance.

A slim chance, but those tended to be the ones that worked, in Percy's experience.

Kronos tilted his head, and continued, "You, though, have always had a special knack for it, have you not, Perseus? My generals always enjoyed sharing tales of your various little quips and barbs, as you improbably escaped to live another day."

Percy gave in, a smile of pride curving his mouth upward. "It runs in the family, mouthing off to assholes with delusions of ruling the universe."

The sea never liked to be restrained—and always reserved the right to be sarcastic.

Kronos gave him a patronizing, thin smile. "Indeed. Poseidon always had a. . .certain panache for it. I certainly plan to enjoy a meeting with him in the future."

The sinking, nervous feeling had returned. Percy swallowed. "Why? Plan to show off your Buff Gollum body?"

Prometheus choked, and for a minute, the air pressure became stifling. Percy couldn't _breathe,_ and everyone in the entire room seemed to slow down.

Kronos's expression did not change, but his eyes were ablaze, and he seemed to glow.

"Not quite."

Just as suddenly, the pressure disappeared, and Percy could breath. The _empousai_ stepped back, releasing Percy's cuffed hands, and he gratefully rolled his sore shoulders.

"However, I would simply adore the opportunity to see his expression as I wore your body to destroy Olympus," Kronos said mildly.

Icy horror lanced through Percy's mind, and he didn't think before his mouth opened, the memory of Luke begging Percy to help the son of Hermes die replaying on loop in his brain. Any previous pain or plans were forgotten at the threat.

_Never._

He _never would._

Percy would happily die before seeing someone else, or being forced himself, into— _that._

"When Tartarus freezes over and turns into Elysium," he snarled, yanking against his restraints, as the guards struggled to hold him back, the visceral grief reborn running through his veins. "I would _never_ willingly host you. _Never."_

Kronos merely looked amused at this, his eyes dancing with glee as Percy was yanked up by the _empousai_ and dragged backwards.

Percy instinctively reached for the water around him, for any kind of an earthquake, _anything_ —and there was nothing but the pull in his gut and a migraine the size of the Empire State Building. _What._

"Time alone will tell, Perseus. Nothing else will."

* * *

Percy didn't bother making it easy for them as he was dragged back.

By the time he was thrown back in a cell, he had finally managed to earn himself a broken nose, and broken _something_ vaguely bone-like of Serephone's. Prometheus's aura of imperturbability had frayed, several other monsters had been forced to come along and make sure Percy didn't actually escape, and despite the general futility of his situation, Percy was generally feeling much better about himself.

Particularly when he _finally_ managed to make a small pipe explode in Prometheus's face when they got too close to a bunch of plumbing. The cramps had been completely worth it when the Titan had abandoned them after that.

They didn't bother to take back to his original cell, instead throwing him—literally—into the cell across from Hazel, who looked to be genuinely asleep. As they strode out, Percy gingerly picked himself off of the floor, and tried to pull himself back together to plan his next moves.

He'd figure it out in the morning, Percy quickly decided. The handcuffs were annoying—not to mention limiting his powers, he was pretty sure, considering the headache when he tried to manipulate the toilet plumbing, whether it was just due to Celestial Bronze, or some enchantment—but navigable. Maybe. He could still _do_ stuff, it just required a lot more effort than usual.

And he still needed to figure out what had happened to Luke.

Percy hauled himself over to the cot in the corner, and once he made sure he wouldn't choke on his own blood, laid down on his back and closed his eyes.

Five minutes later, he heard a hoarse, familiar whisper echo across the empty, dim hallway.

"Percy, are you awake?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I woke up and promptly had a bout of the stomach flu, so this is a little bit late. But, it's still here!
> 
> So, considering this is where canon finally bursts into flames, don't be afraid to ask for explanations for what happened whenever I update. I try my best to keep things straight in-story and somewhat consistent with pre-established canon rules, but I do make mistakes, and I adore talking with all of you.
> 
> But, ah. You probably don't give a flying fuck about that right now. *Runs and hides*
> 
> Let me know what you thought about all of this, and I'll see you March 1st?


	13. How Many Can Keep a Secret, Again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am not, and will never be, Rick Riordan. Sadly, this means I don't own Percy Jackson.  
> Warnings: Self-edited, swearing, mentions of PTSD, discussions of character deaths (Yay, two timelines).

_"There is no friendship that cares about an overheard secret."_

_-Alexandre Dumas_

* * *

"Hazel?" Percy said hoarsely as he sat up and walked to the cell door, somehow already _knowing_ the answer he would get. "Is that you?"

In what little light there was, Percy could just make out Hazel _("I slowed them down, but they'll be here any second_ —"), her eyes scanning for any eavesdropping guards before darting back to him.

Haltingly, Hazel's words began to stumble out. "Do—Do you remember? F-Frank, Camp Jupiter, Alaska, Gaea, Athens, all of it? It, it wasn't. . .?"

Percy nodded eagerly, not trusting his mouth; Hazel let out a quiet choked sob, and didn't say anything else. Even in the darkness, Percy could see her eyes glimmering.

Percy, on the other hand, was struggling to remember how to _breathe,_ his exhaling harsh to his ears as it quickened. _Hazel, Di Immortales, Hazel, you **remember, Hazel. . .**_

And, gods, he'd tried not to think about it, but he'd had no idea how to resurrect her again without kickstarting another war— _and you would_ , a dark corner of his mind whispered. _For them? You know what she went through, what she deserved_ _—_ or messing with things even Percy knew were a Bad Idea to touch.

Focus on the good things, he reminded himself. The good, non-panic-attack-inducing, things. Short list, but he could do it.

Hazel Levesque was _alive_ —no strings attached, alive. _("You must fulfill the Rule of Three_ _—")_

It was certainly much better than his disappearing jerk of a brother.

At the thought of Triton, Percy automatically searched for the now-familiar weight at the hollow of his throat, and was relieved and confused in equal measure to find the trident still there. _How did they miss it?_ _The Mist, maybe?_ Percy mused. He didn't think long on it, though, and the potential the concealed weapon brought as his mind immediately circled back to the resurrected daughter of Pluto.

"But how do _you_ remember?" Percy said wonderingly as he began to look at Hazel with a more critical eye; now, he noticed just how sharp her cheekbones were, the lack of shoes, and the way her entire self seemed to be frayed at the edges.

"Everyone _died,_ Hazel. You all _died,"_ Percy said roughly. He remembered _that_ part very clearly, if nothing else.

"Percy," Hazel whispered, looking nervously down the hall before continuing, "I never died. Not the second time. Clytius trapped me. But I didn't die. He trapped me in some sort of loop, reliving the last day in Alaska, with m-my mother, over and over. And then, there was this golden light _everywhere_ —"

"And you woke up in the Fields of Asphodel," Percy finished, feeling sick. Gods, _that_ day? And he thought dying had sucked.

Hazel nodded, her golden eyes—the shade somehow similar, and yet so different from Kronos's—distant. "The light, it felt—incomplete, until I followed it. Then, I didn't remember much of anything, not at first. I was a bit more aware of everything, I think, but I didn't really understand _why._ But when _he_ was ransacking the Underworld, cutting through Asphodel, I was just pulled along by something, and I didn't resist."

 _The Doors of Death,_ Percy thought immediately. It had to be. He wasn't exactly an expert on the matter, but Prometheus had mentioned them, and with

"What happened after that?"

Hazel shrugged limply. "I woke up in this cell, with Prometheus towering over me, asking me just how much I knew about my heritage. There was a woman with too, I think. Tall, curled auburn hair, beautiful, brown eyes. She looked old enough to be someone's mother."

Percy frowned at the description, wracking his memory. It was probably a useless endeavor, considering the woman—Titaness, Percy suspected—could most likely disguise herself however she wished. Still, there was usually a certain appearance an immortal liked to keep to.

"Did she do anything, talk at all?" he worriedly asked at last, coming up empty. He had never met any of Kronos's sisters, though he knew Artemis's hair was usually fairly close to her and Apollo's mother's.

At this question, Hazel shuddered. "She didn't speak. When I told Prometheus, he looked at her, and then she _looked_ at me. Like she was reading the story of life off of my face. She then did something with her hand in my general direction. I don't really remember much after that."

She re-created the gesture with unnerving precision uncharacteristic of her. It looked as if Hazel was preparing to spin something away from her at an odd angle, before pulling on something quickly.

"It was only the once though," she finished, relief clear in her voice. "But Prometheus has come back once a day ever since, and _talked._ For ages, about humanity, Kronos, my. . .past."

Percy felt his joy at the appearance of his friend begin to fade, just a little. They were still imprisoned, after all, with this mysterious woman in the mix in addition to Kronos, Prometheus, and the Fates knew what else.

And, he remembered with a sinking feeling, what about Hazel's blackouts?

"It's strange," Hazel mused, "But I remember the woman's appearance _exactly,_ right down to the color of her sash—chartreuse, with thin saffron threads weaving through it. It couldn't have been more than five minutes."

Percy _really_ wished he had Annabeth with him; she probably could have come up with three different candidates by now. "Not really ringing a bell, Hazel. I only had a couple Titans try to kill me last time, no Titanesses."

Hazel nodded thoughtfully. "I'd forgotten, you and the rest of the Greeks fought a whole war against Kronos."

"I try to forget, too," Percy said, surprising even himself with the bitterness in his voice.

"Oh, _Percy,"_ Hazel sighed, the sympathy in her voice making Percy itch with annoyance. He'd already gone through it, dammit. The first time was _done with,_ and now he just needed do it again, but better this time. He didn't need Hazel's well-meaning pity. "What _happened_ to you all?"

Percy plastered a crooked smile on his face. "You mean, what did _I_ happen to."

 _"Percy_ —" she said warningly. "Don't try it."

"Sorry," Percy said sheepishly, "But. . .hell, it's all so mixed up by now."

She didn't falter, and Percy could _definitely_ see the pity on her face now. "That bad?"

"You have no idea."

"Tell me," she said quietly. "I already told you my story."

"It's a long story," Percy tried. "We should get some sleep, before anyone decides to break us up."

Hazel's eyes gleamed knowingly in the dark, bright and precious as Greek _drachma._ "We won't be interrupted. I can't sense any obvious weaponry nearby, and I've been able to hide even when they _do_ show up."

Despite himself, Percy snorted. They had chosen to underestimate Hazel, then, leaving her powers intact. He looked forward to helping with the ensuing explosions. "I hope they like curses with their shinies, if you can sense them."

The line startled a chuckle out of Hazel, even as it failed to distract her. "Percy, please."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" Honestly, he didn't need anyone else trying to worry over him—Luke _,_ on the other hand, wherever he was, deserved all the worry in the world, considering his objectively shitty life choices lately. And as for the di Angelos, well. Percy wasn't quite sure anyone handling sufficient amounts of worry for them on their own.

"Would you?" Hazel asked rhetorically. "If it were me, or Annabeth, or Frank, Nico, or anyone else in your position?"

Percy knew the answer to that one. He knew that if positions were flipped, he wouldn't rest until they finally told him what they had been through—that, or he was stabbed somewhere vital.

Plus, Hazel did deserve to know about Nico.

"Fine, then," he groused, admitting defeat, "I hope you brought popcorn, though. It's going to be a long one."

"We have time," Hazel said evenly. Her voice was soft, and kind as it had always been. But now, Percy could hear the thread of Imperial Gold running through it. Reassuring and warning him at the same time. Percy was no longer the only one to have gone through war, and neither of them were the children they looked like. Not anymore.

"Okay, then. See, it all started after I got stabbed in the back, and then woke up back at Camp Half-Blood. . . "

* * *

They were left alone for two days—that is, if Hazel was right about when food appeared and when they slept. And, predictably, because Percy's life sucked, it still wasn't exactly a vacation from trying to stop the apocalypse and all that jazz.

He couldn't even find any peace when he was just trying to _sleep._

 _"Luke had a big head, but at least it was **his** head," Percy automatically shot back. To what, exactly, he wasn't exactly sure, but it felt like the right line. A golden-eyed Luke_ _— **Kronos,** his mind corrected_ _—laughed in front of him, and somewhere deep inside of Percy was screaming wrong, wrong, **wrong.**_

_He stood besides an empty swimming pool, on a ship he suspected was the Princess Andromeda. Beckendorf was still nowhere in sight, and Percy's vision was rapidly blurring as he became increasingly confused._

_Had Beckendorf died already?_

_"A shame to kill you now before the final plan unfolds," Kronos mused as Percy shook himself, and reminded himself to stop being such a cynic. Beckendorf knew how to take care of himself, and they had a plan. Hades knew Silena would kill him if the son of Hephaestus actually died._

_But hadn't Silena been coerced into spying for Kronos?_

_It was this thought that caused Percy to speak again just as Kronos finished his line about how he wished Percy could see how he would try to destroy Olympus. But it was all bull, of course._ _T_ _hey had stopped Kronos, and managed to win, with sacrifices Percy would forget after he forgot his own name. (Hadn't they?)_

_"Jackson? Nothing to say?" Ethan Nakamura gave a familiar sneer as he approached the son of Poseidon, but something about the line seemed wrong to Percy, in this scenario. False._

_"You'll never win."_

_"Keep telling yourself that when every last one of you is thrown into Tartarus," Ethan said contemptuously. He raised his sword, leveling it with Percy's neck as he looked to Kronos for orders._

_Beckendorf still hadn't died yet. Maybe Percy would be wrong, this time._

_" 'S not so bad down there, really," Percy forced out, "You really should go down there sometime. Might jog those memories of yours."_

_Percy fell to his knees, and the last thing he saw before everything went black was a tall, auburn-haired woman standing behind Kronos. The look on her face was indecipherable._

Percy hit his head _again_ against the wall when he woke up.

"This is _really_ getting old," he muttered, rubbing the sore spot gingerly. He pulled himself up, and tried to scrub that last dream out of his mind as he waited for their bi-daily slop that Hazel insisted on calling food. Across the hall, the daughter of Pluto shook her head as she watched him struggle to wakefulness.

"Again?" Hazel said sympathetically. Percy only groaned in response.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly," Percy said darkly. It had been a while since he had thought about the _Princess Andromeda_ , and he was currently feeling too close to twelve for his comfort. "It was the. . .day Beckendorf died. This time."

"Nothing about Nico, or Bianca?" Hazel asked worriedly; deservedly so, Percy considered. Usually, the people in his dreams died or were being hurt in painful ways. And while Hazel cared very much about her Greek half-brother—and had displayed an unholy amount of glee at the prospect of the Big Sister role this time—she had been thrilled and saddened in equal measure to learn about Bianca. It had only snowballed from there, too.

What he had originally meant to be a quick summary of the lunacy he had called demigod puberty, had quickly turned into an hour-long storytelling session, peppered by eager questions from Hazel about pretty much everyone. Percy had still been forced to leave certain stories out as well, just so they could eventually sleep; part of it had just been stuff that wasn't that important _("And. . .I want to buy a dam t-shirt."),_ while other details had just. . .been too painful _("I hate you! I wish you were dead!")_ _._

Percy would get it right with Bianca and Nico this time if it killed him.

He then shook his head, responding to Hazel as much as he was trying to clear his mind. "At the time, Nico was. . .actually, I'm not sure where he was. Not anywhere near the _Andromeda._ And Bianca was, erm, well, dead."

Hazel winced. "Oh."

Percy frowned, thinking as he leaned against the bars of his cell to try and peer down the hall, mirroring Hazel's actions. "There was something else, too. The woman you mentioned the other day, the one who visited you with Prometheus. Tall, reddish-brown hair?"

"What about her?"

"I think she was in my dreams last night."

Hazel's mouth formed an _O,_ her eyes wide with worry. "Any idea who she is, then?"

"None," Percy said, shaking his head despairingly. "But at least we both know what she looks like know.

Hazel nodded, her greasy curls still managing a little bit of bounce, and neither said anything else as they both studiously observed the corner from which everyone appeared. Time passed as Percy began to fiddle with the handcuffs around his wrists, and the usual timing for their slop _(Really, it wasn't food, no matter Hazel said)_ came and went with nothing. Finally, Percy broke the silence, as every one of his instincts began to scream that finally, _finally,_ they would be seeing action soon.

"Think we'll see anyone today?"

"It _has_ been two days. If this is any indication, they might have decided they let us stew long enough," Hazel agreed.

She gave Percy an unimpressed look. "If you can call 'let's just be as nosy as possible and hope it doesn't get us killed' a _plan."_

"That is not what I said," Percy exclaimed, offended.

"Of course, I'm sorry," Hazel said graciously, before quickly adding sarcastically, a small sardonic grin playing on her face, "You said, 'look around for anything with a little blue Delta sign on it, anything we can use to escape, and try not to get killed while being nosy'. While surrounded by who knows how many hostile immortal beings who want to kill us or possibly eat us, of course. It's much better, really."

"I do _not_ remember you being this sarcastic," Percy teased, his eyebrows raised in mild surprise. Before, when the Seven had engaged in snark-fests, Hazel had usually bowed out early, occasionally turning red if it turned bawdy.

Towards the end, though, she _had_ to begin to pick up her own stealthy brand of sarcasm, and used it to great effect.

Hazel shrugged. "Times change, and so must I, Percy."

At this, they both sobered quickly. It was far too true for both them. On their second timeline—in Hazel's case, practically her third life—the list of things they could rely on to not change was nearly nonexistent.

Except for Kronos being an ass, apparently.

This was proven when Alabaster Torrington rounded the corner Percy and Hazel had been watching so carefully earlier, flanked by two unfamiliar demigods and the two _empousai_ who had been with Prometheus the other day.

Torrington came to a stop, and coldly inspected the two caged demigods before turning to his minions.

"Take them."

The two demigods peeled off to Hazel's cell as the _empousai_ advanced on Percy, who at first didn't bother to fight. Then one of Torrington's goons yanked Hazel onto the floor by her hair, and Percy suddenly didn't care if he was dragged before Kronos with a broken leg.

Hazel jabbed an elbow in Ugly Goon Number One's stomach that left him bent over and gasping for air as she danced back on her toes to dodge Ugly Goon Number Two's grab for her shoulder. Percy whipped his chains up to briefly choke one of the _empousa,_ nearly popped his wrist out of its socket as he pushed the other backwards.

"Don't. Touch. Me." Hazel growled at Hair-Puller. He growled in frustration, and tried to swing at Hazel. He missed, and when his comrade moved forward, Percy leaped onto his back—momentarily forgetting that he was, in fact, still twelve and not due for his first growth spurt for another three months.

The ensuing scuffle in close quarters was short and vicious; the four minions looked like they had walked through a tornado, and Hazel and Percy had several new tears on their clothes by the time Torrington broke it all up with application of the Mist that left Hazel looking reluctantly impressed.

They were dragged away from their cells, and Percy immediately began to regret his decisions as his head throbbed from getting thwacked by a shield. At least, until he heard Hazel.

"Worth it," Hazel muttered, as they were dragged away. Percy looked at her confusedly, blinking away the red drops— _blood,_ stupid—dripping over his left eye from a cut he could feel stinging.

When he followed her pointed gaze down to her right hand, Percy could briefly make out the gleam of metal before Hazel slipped the knife back up her sleeve.

* * *

"Hazel Levesque," Kronos greeted from his throne, "I trust you and Perseus have got on, for the past two days? He did mention that you had met before."

"Considering you've left us in our cells to rot for the past two days? Just fine," Hazel said, stone-faced as she stared up at the Lord of Time.

"The menu could be better," Percy added from beside her, "We'll have to knock a star or two off the review for that."

Kronos gave a light chuckle, and the sound felt like ice sliding down Percy's spine—and Hazel's too, if the tightening of her shoulders was anything to go by. "So delightful. It is good to know the Romans have not entirely lacked the sense of humor their Greek cousins have. The ones in my service tend to be entirely dull-minded, granddaughter. Good soldiers, however. They know not to question me much better."

Hazel's upper lip curled in defiance. "Only because they've been brainwashed by _you."_

"They have been told the truth by me," Kronos responded sharply, "Unlike what my wayward children tell you. I shall tell it all to you as well, as soon as Prometheus brings the last one of your number."

Percy bit back a gasp. _Luke._ It had to be.

At least he wasn't dead. Or possessed by a Titan. Or really, any of the other things that had happened last time.

But Kronos hadn't finished.

"But, alas," Kronos continued dramatically, stretching out his Buff Gollum body out on his throne, "To tell you all of the real truth, I fear there is one more thing I should tell the both of you, before he arrives. It concerns my and Perseus's journey through time."

Percy shared a confused look with Hazel, even as he felt the beginnings of nervousness and fear bubble up in his stomach. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what Kronos even as small little things from his days after waking up three months ago—the golden flashes out of the corner of his eye, the weird _dreams_ —came to mind.

But what was it, and what was Kronos trying to do?

"This."

The moment the word was said, Percy was on the floor, and then, he was. . .not.

Or he was, and it was just his senses tricking him.

Percy couldn't tell.

Black, shadowy Othrys, and those within it had disappeared, in Percy's eyes.

Everything was bright darkness, and frozen and moving in time, a screeching silence, but above all—

It _burned._

* * *

_It's not much._

_Just a faint shudder from the bond connecting an immortal father to his son with haunted eyes._

_Bright familiar power, similar to that which his elder brother had refused to name a fortnight before, in familiar conference. Not much._

_But it's enough._

_Half a world away, the second son of Kronos looks up_ —

* * *

_Triton is already gone._

* * *

And then it all disappeared, and Percy was left back in his own body, face pressed against the obsidian floor.

"What. _The Fuck Was that."_ Percy gasped out, propped up on his knees only by Hazel. It had felt like the entire world had been set on its side, and then righted again.

"What did you do to him?" Hazel demanded lowly, as furious and protective as Percy had ever seen her. "What did you _do,_ Saturn?"

The Lord of Time grimaced at his Roman epithet. "It is complicated beyond your comprehension, daughter of Rome."

"Well, I may not be a god or a Titan, but I know there's nothing complicated about him screaming like a wounded animal," she said thickly, faint hints of a Creole accent trickling back into her voice.

He _had_ been screaming, hadn't he, Percy thought dimly. For the first time, he realized how sore his throat was.

Percy fixed a wary eye on Kronos. "What—what did you do to me?"

"Nothing the Fates did not do to either of us first," Kronos corrected, "In terms your mortal mind can comprehend? You came into direct contact with my immortal power. It nearly destroyed your mind."

Someday, Percy was going to find out who he had pissed off and pay them off, because this was getting ridiculous.

"Why?" he asked, his voice raspy. He reached an arm out, and Hazel helped him totter to his feet. Percy felt as if a stiff wind could knock him over.

Kronos tilted his head quizzically. "You imply I had a _choice_ in the matter? When the Fates decided to rearrange matters to their liking, our souls were bound as we all manipulated events. Thanks to the ignorance of those women, our souls were connected in a bond that simply cannot be broken."

"You're _tied together?"_ Hazel exclaimed, horrified. Percy felt like he was going to be sick. Or possibly just get some soul bleach.

His soul tied to _Kronos's,_ baby-eater and megalomaniac extraordinaire?

"Unfortunately," Kronos said with distaste.

"That's what that was?" Percy whispered, dazed. Then before he thought better of it, he couldn't to talk. "Then why didn't you just let that kill me?"

 _"Percy!"_ Hazel hissed worriedly, her eyes locked on Kronos, who despite his current lack of height or a body that could generally be taken seriously, was currently the most terrifying being within a five-mile radius.

"Because, his soul is currently anchoring mine, and mine his to a lesser degree, Miss Levesque. He must die if my children ever truly hope to defeat me. I die. . ." Kronos _shrugged,_ a casual gesture that left Percy staring in morbid fascination.

Percy was currently using most of his willpower to try and and run out of the room screaming; he wouldn't get that far, but it would be beside the point. It all felt like surreal nightmare, none of it looking close enough to reality.

He had to die? All of that hope, a second chance, and now he would have to die, before ever dealing with Gaea?

What was the fucking _point,_ then?

"As a result," Kronos added, seemingly as an afterthought, "He would be an _excellent_ host."

"When Tartarus freezes over," Percy growled automatically. Oddly, Kronos let out a huff of apparent genuine laughter at this line.

"It is funny you should say that, considering I have it on good authority large parts of the Underworld are, indeed, currently frozen over. My son has had a difficult time of things lately," he said confidentially to Hazel. If she set her jaw any harder, Percy noted, she was bound to break her teeth.

"Oh? You didn't know. I can't say I'm surprised. They never really do tell you anything. Not when Mother has decided to reclaim her former glory," Kronos mused. "Not when everyone is dying around you in a pathetically preventable massacre."

 _(Enceladus running Annabeth through before she could scream, before Percy could tell her he loved her_ —

 _Frank Zhang being desperately avenged by his father Mars, no, Ares, or was it Mars_ — _or_ _did it really matter, when he was always his son?_

_The last thing Percy saw were the stars. The stars, and his father's face.)_

_**No.** _

Percy refused. Not in front of Kronos.

"We'll never join you," Hazel declared fiercely, reaching a hand out to clasp Percy's as comforting and reliable as his mother. Percy continued to measure his breathing, and the roaring and screaming began to disappear.

Kronos gave them a patronizing smile, but said nothing else as his eyes landed on something behind Percy and Hazel.

"Ah, Luke. Thank you, Prometheus. I had been wondering what was keeping you."

Percy almost gave himself whiplash as he turned around and craned his neck to try and see Luke. What he saw both allayed some of Percy's wilder fears about Luke, and created some new ones.

Physically, the son of Hermes seemed relatively healthy. Percy could see a few bruises and scratches, but he still looked better off than Percy and Hazel, after their fight.

But his _body language._ Luke looked like he had been imprisoned for weeks, not days, from the slump of his shoulders down to the way he was shuffling along.

"Percy," Luke murmured as he was brought besides them, briefly making eye contact in turn. "Hazel Levesque, I suppose?"

Hazel nodded mutely, still pale from Kronos's earlier delightful surprise.

Kronos gave Luke a look of grandfatherly concern. "Hello, Luke. I'm sorry you and your friends haven't been able to meet earlier, but I'm glad we can all talk at last though. I—"

"Get to the point," Percy snapped, the quiet, paternal tone and the way it seemed to affect setting him on edge. "Tell us _all_ what you want to tell him, and then go back to cackling about taking over the world, or getting a body less prone to Gollum references, or whatever it is evil psychopaths do in their spare time."

Percy's ears popped, and he could now see Hazel's breath as she shivered, but Luke's straightened posture and brief snort of laughter told Percy he'd made the right move.

"Of course, grandson," Kronos soothed, "Luke, what I wanted to tell you is that Percy, the person you've so often said has been the only person who has never lied to you, has been feeding you a terrible lie. He has, in fact, been keeping such a large secret as to make the so-called goddess of wisdom jealous."

Luke snorted. "Nice try, Kronos. I do actually know Percy."

"Not as well as you think, I'm afraid," Kronos's tone was perfectly sympathetic, and his words seemingly genuinely remorseful. "You see, your _friend,_ refused to tell you that he was, in fact, a time traveler from the future. He came back from the future to try and stop me from destroying Olympus. In the process, he has deliberately manipulated you with his memories to control your actions."

Luke's laughter was loud, bright, and full as it echoed off the walls. Percy stared at his shoes and felt about two inches tall.

"You know, I needed a good laugh," Luke chuckled, "After having to deal with your manipulative bullshit for hours on end. I mean, _Percy Jackson?_ Traveling in time? I mean, Percy, you have to admit, it's—Percy? Percy?"

Percy looked up into Luke's trusting eyes, opened his mouth, and then stopped. Because what _could_ he say?

"I am truly sorry, Luke," Kronos had almost mastered how to sound truly kind by now. Even _Prometheus,_ had a slimy look of pity on his face. "I know you two were close, but—"

"Shut up, and stop lying," Luke said harshly, before repeating much more quietly, "Percy?"

Suddenly, Luke looked very young as he repeated Percy's name.

Percy opened his mouth again, to explain that Kronos was twisting things, it hadn't been like that, _anything._

"—I'm sorry, Luke."

Luke blinked. "What?"

"Luke," Percy repeated, finally finding his voice again, "You have to know, I never wanted you to get hurt, the opposite, actually—"

"Wait, you're really a time traveler—" Luke began. Percy continued to talk, desperate to make sure Luke knew.

"—I never wanted _anything_ from you—"

"—Then you knew—"

"—He's not telling the truth, you have to believe me—"

 _"You said_ —" Luke said pleadingly, his voice cracking. "I've trusted you, kid."

"That's enough for now, I think," Kronos cut over them. Percy's jaw snapped shut, and not of Percy's accord either. "Prometheus, take them back to their cells. _Alone."_

The last Percy saw of Luke was him staring at the floor, Kronos studying him with an avaricious gleam in his little Buff Gollum eyes.

* * *

"Percy, I'm sorry." Hazel was the one to break the tension-filled silence once they were back in their cells.

"Hazel, what do _you_ have to be sorry for? You did absolutely everything possible to keep me upright in there," Percy said bitterly as he stared at the wall, "No, it's not like you were an idiot, or a terrible friend—"

"Percy, you can't actually listen to the crazy—" Hazel broke off suddenly. She abruptly stood up. "What's that?"

Percy reluctantly looked up, and jumped to his feet when he saw them. Her, he mentally amended as she stepped closer.

The auburn-haired woman from Percy's dream was watching them.

"It's you," Hazel breathed. "You're back."

"Who _are_ you?" Percy demanded. He couldn't get a read at all on her expression or body language; actually, despite _knowing_ every detail of what she looked like, there was no distinct overall impression, beyond imposing, beautiful, and immortal.

It was unnerving, to say the least.

"I am Memory," she said simply, her eyes as piercing as in Percy's dreams. "Yours, hers. I have seen them. And I have. . .questions."

Hazel gasped, and her facial expression became one of comprehension.

"Moneta," she breathed. "Mnemosyne."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, right. Also, I did a thing: I wrote a >1K drabble full of angst, Percy, and Luke, titled _Pieces_. I know a lot of you are reading this for the Percy  & Luke angst, (Which. . .it's not like I'm NOT encouraging you on that front) and I got inspired one night.


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